


Where Home is

by naarna



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Community: interhouse_fest, Drinking & Talking, Drowning sorrows in alcohol, F/M, Forgiveness, HP: EWE, Hurt/Comfort, Interhouse Fest 2016, Left alone to deal with aftermath of the War, Loneliness, Muggle Culture, Post-War, Slow Build, Talking, What is Home?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-13
Updated: 2016-12-13
Packaged: 2018-09-08 10:48:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 32,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8841631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/naarna/pseuds/naarna
Summary: A few months after the War has ended, Hermione discovers Draco sitting on her doorsteps one evening, and instead of chasing him away, starts talking to him. It soon turns into a regular event, with them talking about things like forgiveness and home—until Harry discovers them.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story was a submission to the Interhouse Fest 2016 over on LJ.
> 
> The original prompt reads like this:  
>  _"After living at Hogwarts for so many years, home isn't home anymore. A story of friendship, forgiveness, and finding what home really means."_  
>  _Additional: "Light-hearted would be preferred, but as long as there's a happy ending!"_
> 
> Lots of thanks to River_in_Egypt, who was kind enough to help me out with more than just the SPaG, and who insisted on making Draco snarkier than I initially wrote him. ;-)

“Ms Granger?”

Hermione just returned from a long day at work when her elderlyneighbour approached her in front of the steps that led to her small house. “Good evening, Mrs Thompson...” She turned around, feeling tired and not entirely in the mood to deal with the curious neighbour.

“I see you had a long day,” the elderly woman continued, “I just wanted to let you know that there was a young man sitting on the steps to your door over the last few nights.”

“A young man?” Hermione stopped fumbling for her keys and looked at the other woman.

“I found it rather strange that he would do such a thing. He never knocks or anything, just sits there until very late. And he always looks miserable.” Mrs Thompson made a step towards her. “He isn't some jilted lover or anything, is he? I mean I would understand, you being such a pretty young lady–”

“Mrs Thompson!” Hermione cried out rather exasperated. She had moved here to be left in peace for a while, and had to deal repeatedly with an elderly, overly curious neighbour instead. If anyone ever thought that Molly was curious, then they had never met Mrs Thompson! She took a deep breath, and put on a polite smile. “I haven't jilted anyone, Mrs Thompson. But thanks for letting me know,” she replied, “but I'd rather get inside now, it's been a long day at work, you know?”

Mrs Thompson tutted. “I'm surprised that your parents let you move out–”

“Mrs Thompson, please.” Hermione sighed desperately, and started fumbling for her keys again, wanting to get away from her nosy neighbour as fast as possible. If only the elder woman knew what she had survived already at her age. “Thanks for your concern, really. But there's no need to worry about me—I'm fine on my own, and my parents probably don't mind having their house to themselves again. So, I wish you a good night, Mrs Thompson.” And with that, she pushed the key into the keyhole and turned it around.

“Ms Granger–”

“Good night, Mrs Thompson.” Hermione pushed her door open, and stepped inside. Finally. She breathed in as she closed the door behind her, enjoying the silence of her small house for a moment before taking her coat off. Yes, that was more like it. No more parents dancing around her, no more obnoxious patients at her parents' dental practice, no nosy Mrs Thompson—just her all alone in her own place. Her own place, but not her home.

With another sigh, Hermione finally hung her coat on the wardrobe, and walked over to her kitchen to check the fridge for some leftovers from last night's take-away.

No, this wasn't home to her, but then she hadn't felt home anywhere ever since that damn war had ended nine months ago. Yes, she had felt glad that she had been able to reverse the Memory Spell she had used on her parents, and that they had returned to England, taking over another dental practice from a fellow dentist who was about to retire anyway. Yet, ever since she had brought her parents back, she felt as if there was a distance between them without being really able to point out why. Her being a witch had never disturbed their relationship before, they loved her nonetheless. It was something else. Maybe the things she had to do to survive in that War played a part?

To her dismay, the fridge looked rather empty, except for two bottles of beer she couldn't remember buying, some milk, and something that suspiciously looked like some salad she had intended to eat earlier this week.

Yes, she had done things she still couldn't talk about with anyone except her closest friends who had been there as well. Then there was still the fact that she had Obliviated her parents, that she had taken the decision from them—just because she had been selfish enough to want to keep them safe. She was sure that her parents still loved her, as they let her work in the dental practice, but that diffuse feeling of distance still hung over her head, separating her from her parents. That was why she had moved to her own place about half a year ago.

After taking one last look at the empty fridge, Hermione closed it again—it was going to be another night of ordering some take away, and tonight called for something Asian.

Later that evening, after having finished her take-away Hermione was reading through the next few chapters of her newest Muggle whodunnit. As always, reading helped her to relax, but this story also let her delve into a completely different world, providing an escape from her confusion at least for a while—and she had always loved a good mystery, and especially those written by Agatha Christie. They were rather short, but she loved trying to solve the mystery from the clues already presented in the story, and she always loved the moment when she finally came to the revelation and realised that she had guessed right. However, her reading still greatly depended on her mood, and her shelves mirrored that, as they were filled with philosophical works that treated subjects like war, peace, and even forgiveness next to fictional classics like Dickens or the Brontë sisters,—even a Russian author could be found in those rows of books—and the crime stories.

She was slowly starting to doze off, reading the same page at least twice now, when she heard the faint sound of someone Apparating nearby. If Mrs Thompson hadn't alerted her earlier to the visitor, she might not have heard it. She had absolutely no clue who was visiting her repeatedly at night, as she had forgotten to ask Mrs Thompson for details on his looks. Curious, she went to the door, and spied outside. It couldn't be Ron; he wasn't so stupid to run after her now that they had officially broken up—or if he did run after her, he wouldn't just sit on her doorstep without letting her know; no, he would always make himself known to get some attention. Ron was still her friend, but after the War, she had realised that he wasn't what she really wanted, or needed, in a man. She didn't even know what she wanted at all right now, that was why she was living here in this Muggle neighbourhood.

Peering outside, she was baffled when she recognised the hair. No, that couldn't be... _Him_ of all people? She watched him sit down on what she supposed was now his usual spot. He really didn't do anything else than just sit there, staring out into the night. Breathing in, she very carefully opened the door, not wanting to scare him away before she could at least talk to him. “Malfoy?”

He turned around in response, giving the impression of someone who was too weary to even care any longer. “Took you long enough to notice,” he replied laconically, and turned back.

“You’ve been spotted. My neighbour told me. What are you doing here?” She came outside and walked down the few steps past him to have a better look, rather surprised to see him again after all those months since the hearing straight after the war—all the Malfoys had to answer to the Wizengamot about their actions during the War, and were especially scrutinized for their switching only hours before Voldemort's ultimate defeat. She had taken part in Draco's hearing, even testified in his favour, as she understood the situation he had found himself in while others were blinded by the after-war prejudices. She had been the only one of her friends to do so, even though she still very much disliked him for other things he had done. It was her testimony that actually spared him from the house arrest his parents were sentenced to, but she guessed that he was still nonetheless stuck to the Manor because no one in wizarding society wanted anything to do with the Malfoys anymore.

“Sitting.”

“Why?”

“Because I can? I checked how far your wards extend, you know?”

Beneath his usual cocky tone, Hermione thought she could hear the same weariness she felt a lot these days. He looked worn out, even lonely; there was nothing left of the cockiness he had shown at the hearing—which probably had been a defensive behaviour anyway—nor the sneer and the contempt he had shown off so much back at Hogwarts. “Just tell me why it has to be my place you chose for sulking around?” She rubbed her arms and wished she had taken a coat with her, it was a chilly night after all.

“Come on, Granger, I didn't think you'd be so out of the loop not to know that no one would want me sulk anywhere in their vicinity.”

She let out a sigh. “Manor not big enough to find a spot for sulking, then?”

He shot her an icy glare, indicating that he wasn't up for their usual game of insulting each other tonight, that he was rather tired of it all.

“I see.” She rubbed her arms once more; the day had been exhausting enough, and now she had to deal with Malfoy on top of that. She wasn't exactly in the mood for that right now, but she still wanted to know why he had shown up here. That was why she climbed the stairs back inside. “I'll be right back.”

“No need to,” he grumbled dejectedly behind her back.

Hermione ignored his comment, and went back inside, internally debating whether it really was a good idea what she was about to do. Didn't Harry say at one point—though jokingly—that she had a heart for lost causes? That she wanted to save everyone? She sighed as she opened the fridge to grab the two bottles of beer she had seen earlier.

Moments later, she returned with the beer bottles in one hand, and her coat in the other. “So, I have two rules if you want to keep coming here to sit on my doorstep,” she started, handing him one of the bottles. “Number one: No insults—neither against me, nor against my friends.” She raised her eyebrow and shot him a warning glare when she noticed that he wanted to say something. Putting on her coat, she continued, “Number two: You tell me what's the matter with you. Because I noticed you changed since the last time I saw you at the hearing.”

“Oh, you did notice that? Your testimony was basically worthless, because I'm still stuck at the Manor for all it's worth...”

“Malfoy, don't test me,” she responded to his cynical outburst. “I tried to help, despite hating your guts back then–”

“Back then? You still don't like me. You just don't want me on your conscience.”

“Malfoy, stop it, you're really testing my limit right now. I said no insults, and you're getting close,” Hermione snapped at him. “I'm most definitely _not_ in the mood to deal with you right now, so be careful with your words, or I'll reconsider my hospitality.” She watched him trying to find a retort to her words, and then finally slowly nod as if agreeing to a deal. “Good,” she said, now with a much softer voice. “So, why are you here?”

Draco played with the still closed bottle in his hands for a moment, while being almost defiantly silent. “You were the only person I could think of that wouldn't chase me straight off,” he finally admitted, “I just want to get out of the Manor, but no one wants to deal with us, and as you can imagine, I don't want to deal with them.” With a small _plop_ , he opened his bottle, then looked at her, his eyes studying her closely. “You look like you don't want to deal with a whole lot of people either, since you choose to live _here._ ”

“Not your business.” Irritated that he hit the nail on the head with his last remark, she opened her own bottle.

Yes, she wasn't in the mood to deal with a whole lot of people at the moment—the Ministry most prominently that would love to have her on board for their misguided after-war attempt at reconciling the wizarding community; she just couldn't identify with them wanting to prosecute every single witch or wizard who had done something in the name of Voldemort, regardless how small the deed. Her warning hadn't been heeded, so nothing was going to change any time soon. She had fought for a better world, to give everyone the same change regardless of their blood or their heritage, but it had all been for nothing. That damn war had demanded so much from her and her friends, even from Malfoy, and now they all suffered the consequences to varying degrees—everyone was mourning lost family members; her friends were in the constant spotlight as _war heroes_ , while others were shunned, turned into pariahs. It was definitely a huge reason why she chose to leave the wizarding world for the time being.

“I see,” he commented dryly, even flashing a short smirk. “You don't like the world very much either.”

“No.” She eyed him, and then took her first gulp of beer. Her first impression was right, he did indeed look lonely—and exhausted, though he tried to hide that. Just his eyes betrayed him; their usual shade of pale grey looked jaded, as if they had lost their fire. He had most definitely changed, and not for the better as he seemed to suffer from his loneliness that his status as a pariah in wizarding society brought. _Bitter_ might be a good word right now to describe him. “I'm still wondering why you came to me of all people. I mean we never were best of friends, you know?”

He shrugged. “I don't know. Your place seemed as good as any. And no one suspects me here...” He swayed the bottle in his hand, followed the opening with his finger. “Maybe it’s because you were one of the few people who actually cared. At the hearing, I mean. You told them that I should get another chance.”

After his outburst at the beginning, Hermione found Malfoy now almost eerily earnest. “Yes, I did,” she replied, and then added with a more sarcastic tone, “that I care is going to be my downfall one day.”

A short smirk flashed up on his face. “Probably. And then the Prophet will be all over it— _Golden Trio member Granger: did she care too much?,_ ” he said, his hand following an invisible headline in the air.

“Please not,” she groaned mockingly, then stood up to cast a combination of a Cushioning and a Heating Charm on her spot after checking the vicinity for Muggles; she was starting to freeze her bottom off. “Just how did you find my place?” she asked when she sat down again.

He shrugged again. “Not important.”

“Oh, this bodes well for my future hospitality,” she commented dryly, stowing her wand back into her coat sleeve.

“You don't need to know everything, Granger,” he replied with a taunt in his voice.

“It's not important anyway, I'm not in hiding.” She shrugged.

“You're just playing a recluse, then.”

“Maybe.”

“Not _maybe_ , Granger, you are a recluse,” he insisted, mocking her further with raising his eyebrow.

“All right, I am,” she groaned, and sipped from her bottle.

“You're not going to tell Potter, are you?” he asked after a few long moments of rather awkward silence between them, fumbling with the label of his bottle.

Hermione shook her head. “No. He would have a go at me for even just letting you sit here,” she replied earnestly, ending with a sigh.

“I probably get why he wouldn't want to see me sitting here, with everything that happened at Hogwarts and during the War, so... Thanks for being civil enough.”

“Okay, now you're creeping me out. _You_ thanking me... This has to be a first.”

“Don't tell me you want to take a picture of that moment,” he replied, and raised his bottle for a gulp. “But yes, it's a first, savour it.”

She noticed the small grin on his face before he put the bottle to his lips. “Oh, I will. And then I will tell everyone that you actually _thanked_ me for something.”

He let out a groan. “Please don't.”

With a teasing smile, she shook her head. “I won't, because that would mean that I have to tell everyone as well that you're coming here.”

“Why not?”

“They don't need to know everything,” she replied, rolling her bottle between her hands, mostly to keep them occupied. “But you really mean it when you say that I'm the first person to be actually civil enough with you?”

“You have no idea,” he grumbled, bitterness cracking his voice. “This really is the most civil conversation outside my family I've had in months. As far as we can still do a civil conversation amongst ourselves...”

“Seriously?”

He nodded, while facing her “We're pariahs, Granger, no one wants to have anything to do with us.”

She searched his face, and thought she saw hurt flicker over his face for a fleeting second before he was able to hide it again. It only added to his weary look—he definitely suffered from his loneliness, and even more so from being ostracised for something he had no real choice in. “So, you come here for company?”

“Maybe.”

“Not maybe. I _know_ you're lonely, and you're desperate for some decent human contact. That's why you come here.” His clenched jaws and his fixed staring on his bottle were a sign that she in turn had hit the nail on the head—he had to be boiling over with frustration under that mask. “Look, you can sit here as much as you want if it is so important to you,” she then offered. “I mean we're both cast-outs in a way–”

“You a cast-out? Society bloody adores you, even though you disappeared,” he rebuffed her.

“I couldn't care less right now.” She took another sip of her beer. “You know why I decided to move here, basically leaving our society? I can't bear it right now, that bloody black-and-white view in the aftermath of the War, with a Ministry that has apparently learned _nothing_ from the War. I've read enough about Muggle history to know that this isn't the way to handle this situation, or it might lead straight to another conflict in the near future.”

“You compare it to Muggle history?” he objected, staring right at her in surprise while letting his bottle float between his hands.

“Well, yes, I do,” she retorted, and then smiled shortly when she remembered that his knowledge about Muggle history was limited, or rather non-existent. “The Muggles had two World Wars. The Allied Forces in the First World War, especially France, wanted to load the complete blame on Germany as the losing party, and demanded vigorous reparations, basically dismantling and ruining the country in the process. That led straight to a recession, giving a right-wing party the opportunity to seize power. They started a second war, conquering half of Europe and then pushing their ideology through everywhere. Now, wizarding society—and the Ministry especially—goes through a similar blame game. You wouldn't believe how much that creeps me out.”

“Yeah, _blame game_ is a good name for it,” he concurred sarcastically, and let his bottle rise up before taking it in his hand for another gulp.

“I mean how can we build a peaceful society after the War when we're not able to recognise the mistakes that have been made on both sides? The Ministry is pursuing everyone with the slightest connection to Voldemort, but the Ministry deliberately ignores its wrongdoings. If they keep doing that, then they are no better than those we blame for everything...” Hermione stopped her rant when she noticed that Draco was staring at her, his eyes growing bigger and bigger with almost every word. “What?”

“You had a lot of time to think about that, haven't you?” he commented, a sarcastic tone mixed into his bewilderment. “Because you sound just as bitter as I about the whole thing...”

“ _Bitter_ is the right word,” she replied dryly. “So, I'm here because I don't want to play that game.”

“That must be another first—you feeling bitter,” he said, smirking, and let his fingers follow the outline of the bottle. “But you know I wish I could disappear so easily...”

“I can understand that.” She finished her beer. “It might surprise you, and I don't even really know why I tell you that, but I feel like I lost that place I could call _home_. I feel like I don't belong anywhere any more–”

“What about this place here?” he asked, sounding earnest.

“I live here, but I wouldn't call it _home._ ”

He nodded and finished his bottle. “Yeah, I get _that_.”

“Sounds like you feel similarly.” She tried to stifle a yawn, and lost.

“You'd be surprised.” His short laugh sounded surprisingly bitter. “But I might tell you about that another time. You look like you should be in bed,” he then commented on her yawn, and smirked when she couldn't stop herself from yawning once more.

“If it hadn't been for you, I'd be now nicely tucked in under a warm cover, finishing my crime story.”

“Yet you figured I'd be more interesting,” he teased her, and then started to get up.

“What gave you that impression?” she replied, cocking her eyebrow, and then got up as well, taking his empty bottle he handed her.

“Granger, you were always one for a good mystery, you always want to know. I just gave you one.”

“As if.”

He chuckled at her slight mocked protest. “But thanks for letting me sit here,” he said before getting up as well to leave.

 

***

 

“You look like you've been thinking,” Hermione remarked the next evening when she sat down next to Draco, handing him a fresh bottle of beer from the pack she brought home earlier that evening.

“Yes, I've been thinking for the last few months actually,” he replied, taking the bottle she was offering. “Thanks.”

“You have a lot of time for it, I guess...”

“More than enough, stuck in the Manor all day long.” He sipped some beer. “Maybe that's another reason why I come here...”

She nodded; she wouldn't want to be stuck with her parents in the same place either, even if it was as big as Malfoy Manor. “So...”

He looked at her, his eyes apparently searching her for some answer she probably couldn't provide. “Can I ask you something?”

“Just remember my rules...” She took a sip from her bottle, wary of what might come.

“No need to worry, Granger, I'm not going to suddenly attack you... This is just something that's bothering me for a while now, and you seem like someone I could discuss it with–”

“You can't talk with your parents?” she asked, interrupting him because this rather surprised her. Then she noticed how he was fumbling with the label again, realising that this was a sign that he needed to distract himself from his insecurity.

He groaned and took a gulp of his beer. “I barely exchange two words with my father. And I most certainly can't speak with him about a lot of things—at least not without it ending in another fight because I just can't agree with him any longer. As for my mother... I do still speak with her, but she is lonely, missing her friends while under house arrest, and discussing things with her is just as difficult.” He took a deep breath, and swayed the bottle in his hands. “I just want to know what you think about forgiveness, you know? Do you think you're able to forgive things that happened during the War?”

“That is no easy question,” she replied thoughtfully, surprised at the honesty in his voice. “And it is no easy, but certainly an interesting concept... Why do you ask?”

“My family has never been good with forgiveness, I figured. But with everything that has happened lately, it got stuck in my head, you know?” He pointed at his temple.

She nodded. “I hope you don't mind me being rather blunt, but your family—even you as far as I remember—never seemed to know the words _kindness_ and _forgiveness_ with regards to others–”

“Yes,” he admitted, taking a gulp from his bottle. “That's true. My family always considered those things to be weaknesses—my father still does.”

“And you don't?”

He shrugged, tearing further at the halfway nibbled-off label. “At the moment, I don't really know anymore what I'm supposed to believe.”

“That's why you ask about forgiveness? You want to know what _I_ think about it?”

“Yes.” He sighed, his eyes fixed on his fingers that were still tearing at the label.

“You know how to ask the difficult questions for sure,” she replied, and rolled her bottle between her hands to gain a few seconds before answering.

"You like difficult questions, Granger, but I'd really like to know," he replied with a wink, curling his lips into a smirk.

She nodded. “Look, some say that forgiveness is necessary for a society to mend, that you can't harbour resentments forever, because we need to be able to work together in some way. Personally, I think it is sometimes just as necessary, so that you can let go of your anger towards the person who wronged you and be able to move on with your life. Understanding the situation or position of the person that wronged me—you with your persistent bullying at Hogwarts for example—then I might be able to forgive, and maybe even think you deserve another chance. Being able to forgive is hard, but I think it is a central part of living together–”

“Hogwarts is one thing,” he replied with a shrug. “But would you consider stuff that happened during the War to be forgivable?”

She looked at him, noticing the earnest expression. To cover for her moment of confusion, she sipped her bottle; his interest in this topic was definitely perplexing,. “I don't think it is this easy. Why do you ask?”

“I've just been thinking a lot about what I've done during the War, you know?”

“You mean that you tried to kill Dumbledore, for example?”

“Yes, amongst other things,” he replied quietly, crumbling the already torn-off label in his hand, just to avoid looking at her.

“Are you trying to ask me whether _I_ specifically could forgive you for what you had to do in those days?” She saw him nod after several long seconds of faking interest in the information on the back of the bottle; the whole situation was starting to feel unnerving to Hermione—here was Malfoy sitting next to her, asking her to forgive him, looking rather confused, and even a bit lost. “Look—and I don't mean to offend you right now—you really were an arrogant elitist arse back at Hogwarts, priding yourself on your blood status, and letting me know mine at every opportunity–”

“Yes, I was an arse then,” he admitted exasperatedly, and sipped from his bottle.

“–but the War wasn't your fault. Our generation had no choice other than to finish what our parents had started. We all did what we had to do in order to survive and keep our loved ones safe—your family, my family—just on different sides. I see no fault in that.”

“How can you see no fault in that?” he snorted, and rolled his right sleeve up, revealing the fading Dark Mark on his lower arm.

Hermione flinched when she saw the remnant of his past as a Death Eater; seeing it brought so many memories back, memories she thought she had buried deep enough in the depth of her mind.

“How?” he repeated, glaring at her. “This reminds me every day of the mistakes I made–”

“What would have been the alternative? What would have happened if you hadn't taken it?” she replied, holding his gaze, surprised to see his eyes darken.

“He would have killed my parents,” he growled in response, and finally rolled the sleeve back down.

“That's what I mean. You did it to keep your family as safe as you could...” She breathed in, and rolled her sleeve up to show him her scars. “This is my daily reminder of the cruelty of war.” She watched Draco follow the scars with his finger, almost touching her skin. “War turns us all into animals that fight for survival, you know?”

He shook his head. “That's the one thing I'm really sorry about... I should have stopped my aunt–”

“She would have killed you for trying.” She rolled her sleeve down again and then looked at him for a moment, noticing his clenched jaws. “You sound as if you struggle to come to terms with your part.”

“How can you ever come to terms with something like that?” he retorted cynically. “I was ordered to kill someone–”

“But you haven't, Malfoy, that's the point.”

He looked at her, his darkened, stormy eyes studying her sceptically. “Is it?”

Hermione nodded. “It is. But if it is forgiveness you seek from others, then you should start with yourself.”

“With myself?”

“Yes. Based on what we discussed so far, I get the impression that you feel guilty.”

“Granger, I am guilty! I did those things–”

“Malfoy, please. You had no choice.” She saw that he wanted to say something in response, but then instead swallowed his words with another gulp of beer. “Look, you can't change what happened, but you can give yourself another chance to do better...” She swirled her bottle in her hands, contemplating their discussion for a moment. Malfoy asking her all these questions in earnest was definitely weird, but on the other hand, it was also interesting to hear that he was thinking about those things, that the hearing wasn't completely in vain—at least in regards to Draco.

“Have you forgiven yourself for everything you did during the War?” he then asked; letting his finger absent-mindedly trace the curves of the bottle.

She sighed, and rubbed her neck. “To be honest, I still struggle with the fact that I Obliviated my own parents. I let them forget me in order to protect them, you know?”

He stared at her in disbelief, his hands playing with the now empty beer bottle. “Wow.”

“I can't even fully explain why it bugs me, it just does. Maybe because I was selfish in that moment to not want to lose them, while other parents fought alongside their children.” She rubbed her legs to warm them up a bit in the cold evening air—the combined Heating and Cushioning Charm only worked where she was sitting on it. “And again, I don't know why I tell you that...”

“You don't speak with your friends about those things?”

She shook her head. “No, not really. I don't see them that often at the moment.”

“And here I thought you had been absorbed by the Weasels by now... Instead it sounds like you're just as _desperate for some decent human contact_...”

“You have no idea.” She swayed her bottle in her hand. “You know, if you want to know more about the concept of forgiveness, I have a few books I could lend you. Muggle authors, but their ideas apply to the wizarding world just the same.”

“You're sure you want to lend me Muggle authors, Granger?” he replied, finishing his bottle.

“Oh, they will do you good, Malfoy! And they might give you some answers I can't.”

“Okay, as long as you don't have me write an essay about them.” He handed her his empty bottle and got up.

With a smile, Hermione got up as well; she knew exactly what books might be of interest for him—and she was now curious what he was going to say about it. “Okay, wait here. Won't take long.” And with that, she went inside.

 


	2. Chapter 2

This time, Hermione was already waiting for the sound of someone Apparating into her vicinity. It was faint enough for Muggles to overhear it, but now that she knew Malfoy was visiting her, she was attuned to his arrival.

"One could think you were waiting for me," he commented dryly when he saw her stand on the steps.

"I heard you arrive," she countered, "but one could think that you want me to wait for you."

"Maybe." He chuckled and beckoned her to sit down.

"Did you read a bit in the books I lent you?" she asked, casting a Cushion Charm on her spot before sitting down.

"Yes. Not an easy read though, especially the one written by that woman–"

“You mean Arendt?” She handed him the now usual bottle of beer. “Yes, she is tough to read. But I do hope you understood some things while reading.”

He nodded and rolled his bottle between his hands. “Oh, I definitely did,” he replied and let his bottle open with a _plop_. “Just funny that I get another lesson in Muggle Studies from you...”

“Maybe you should have cared more in class, you know?” she retorted with the same teasing tone in her voice.

“It's not as if you wouldn't jump at any chance to teach someone a lesson in morality, especially if it's _me_.” He took his first sip of beer.

“Well, you definitely are an interesting challenge,” she replied and opened her bottle with the same _plop—_ it sounded just like an echo.

He nodded. “So, you read them all?”

“Yes. As a _recluse_ , I have a lot of time to read when not at work.”

“So, you're not going out with some Muggle boy?” he implied jokingly. “Just for a bit of fun, I mean. I don't think any Muggle man would ever be a good match for you, you'd hex him into oblivion eventually.”

“You think?” she countered. “And why the sudden interest in my love life? I remember the last time you were interested—you taunted me.”

“Well, the arse I was back then did.”

“Just remember the rule, okay?” she said, and noticed a spark in his eyes. Was he...? He couldn't be, could he? What if he was? She started fumbling with the label on her bottle; for a moment, she found it rather eerie that he was still interested in her love life, for whatever reason.

He nodded, smirking at her obvious embarrassment. ”I won't forget your rule, Granger, and it's a challenge. I always liked teasing–”

“You mean _bullying_ me,” she interjected.

“Fuck yes, I bullied you. I get it,” he huffed at her. “Now let me finish my point, will you?”

She stared right back at him, content that she finally got a rise out of him. “Okay, go on then.”

“No,” he retorted, and instead let his bottle swirl around, spraying the ground with some of his beer.

“Malfoy...” She froze the bottle in mid-movement to get his attention back, but he only shook his head. “What's going on? You go from basically flirting with me to fully irritated in seconds.”

“I wasn't flirting with you,” he finally muttered in defiance. “I just wanted to say that you're easy to tease—and I mean that in a good way—because you're not afraid to give back as good as you get. There aren't that many people that are as interesting to talk to as you are, you know? I know you remember me as a snarky bully–”

“Snarky is okay, Malfoy. Well, maybe not snarky, but _sarcastic_. Yes, sarcasm is okay,” she replied with a nod to emphasise her words. “It's just a bit strange reconciling my memories with how you're behaving now, you know? You're so _not you_. Don't get me wrong—it's interesting to talk to you, just a bit... yeah, strange.”

Nibbling on the label of his beer bottle, he looked at her, his slightly furrowed brows showing how hard he tried to find an answer. “It's your rule, Granger. You said I should rather behave or you'll _reconsider your hospitality_ ,” he finally said, shrugging. “And I've already had nine months to reconsider my behaviour; it's a lot of time to figure out that I need to change something, so...” He looked at her shortly, flashing a grin. “So, here I am, behaving all nice and friendly because the _great Granger_ said so,” he added and then raised his bottle to a mock toast.

“Another first then—you _doing_ what I told you to.” Hermione could help but chuckle at that thought. Whenever they had been involuntarily teamed up in classes, he usually tried to do exactly the opposite of what she had told him. And now he sat here, following her one rule of no insults.

“Well, I guess there are going to be a load of firsts between us if we keep this up,” he replied with another teasing smile, letting the bottle float between his hands. “Can I ask you something else?”

“Certainly.”

"Did you move here to avoid your parents?” he asked with an earnest tone. “I mean you told me yesterday that you struggle with you having had to Obliviate them..."

"Yes." She gulped some of her beer. "I just had to. I know they still love me, but I feel like there's some sort of wall between us... I wish I could talk to my parents about what I've done, and what I had to go through in the War. Right now, I rather feel like a constant disappointment because of this.”

"Believe me, I know about that..."

She nodded, smiling faintly. “It's a bit like feeling disconnected to everyone I love, even more so since I broke up with Ron–”

"You broke up with that lazy redhead?" he interrupted her in surprise, even stopped floating the bottle between his hands.

"Malfoy, please!"

"Come on, you _have_ to admit he was lazy. You did almost all his homework–"

"Not the point here," she retorted irritated. "But yes, he was lazy."

"As I said." He took a sip from his beer, smirking. “So, you avoid the Weasels, too, then, I take it?”

“I see you still notice everything...”

Now Draco chuckled. “Concerning you? Yes. Everything about you is noticeable—in a good way, before you get yourself riled up again...”

She found his playful, almost flirty tone rather unnerving whenever he tried to give her a compliment—at least that was what she thought he was doing; she simply wasn't used to hear sincere compliments from him, but she couldn't explain those moments otherwise. “But yes, I avoid them a bit. Haven't been to a Sunday lunch in a while. They still consider me family and everything, but...” She shrugged.

"You just don't feel home _there_ ," he finished her sentence, and smiled faintly when he saw her shake her head. “After all, where is _home_ anyway?” he then let out, sounding more melancholic than he probably intended while letting his bottle raise up until it was at the same level as his head.

"I think the saying is 'home is where the heart is'–"

"Bullshit."

“Yeah,” Hermione concurred with his sentiment, watching him play with his bottle; she understood that he did that to keep himself from plunging even deeper into those upsetting thoughts that plagued them both. “Same for you then?”

"How do you figure?" he muttered, and let his bottle float back into his hands. “The Manor is just the place my family lived in for generations. I told you before that I don't really speak with my parents anymore...”

Hermione noticed the low growl in his voice and the force with which he held his bottle; his situation really had to frustrate him—no wonder he was up in arms every time they touched that subject. “Yeah, you did,” she said, mostly to encourage him to continue.

“There's not much else to it,” he replied with another shrug. “I would really love to move out, to have my own place somewhere, you know? But no one wants to sell or rent me anything just because I'm a Malfoy! So yes, if you want to talk about _home_ , don't include me.”

Yes, Hermione understood this more than she cared to admit, though she was still astonished about his openness with her; he probably just didn't care any longer about a few things that previously ruled his life, such as their respective blood status—maybe he even somewhat liked her? “What about here? I mean you apparently like coming here...”

He looked at her, his fingers nibbling with the label, as he tended to do when trying to cover his confusion; after a few moments, he flashed another of his teasing smiles, and leaned in a bit. “I do, Granger. Or I wouldn't bother putting up with your strict rule...”

She returned his smile. "You never thought you'd ever say that about _me,_ have you?" she finally remarked, teasing him, and lifted her bottle in a toast; her smile grew wider when she saw him copy the gesture.

“Oh, I might have hexed any one back in Hogwarts if they even hinted at us having a proper conversation like this...” He took a sip from his bottle, and put the bottle on the ground between his legs.

“Severely hexed, sending them straight to Madam Pomfrey.”

“Absolutely,” he agreed with a chuckle.

“Yet, here we are. You, me, talking. Still strange, isn't it?”

“Oh yes.” He let his bottle wander over the ground in circles. “Still, despite your rule, it's a nice change to the constant fights with my father. And...” He leaned in once more, looking straight at her. “And you're definitely worth it, following your rule, you know? I'd even stick up with more than just that rule to keep talking to you.”

“Gods, Malfoy,” she let out in embarrassment, trying to hide her blushing cheeks behind her coat collar. This felt mighty strange to hear such a thing from Malfoy, but she had to admit that the liking was starting to be mutual—having left his cockiness and sneer behind, he was actually quite entertaining to talk to, and she did like his challenging perspective on things.

“You don't believe me, do you?” he said, still leaning in, sounding amused about her embarrassment.

“It _is_ a bit hard to believe, yes,” she admitted, nodding, and took a sip from her bottle. Yes, his remark had made her feel a tad embarrassed about realising that she started to like the new him, but it was nice to hear that he considered her worth following her rule of no insults.

“It's the truth, Granger. I'm sure you'll make me admit a few more times that I was an arse back then–”

“You were the king of arses,” she interrupted him mockingly.

“Come on, I wasn't _that_ bad, I never hit you back when you almost broke my nose in third year.”

Hermione let out a short laugh. Oh yes, she remembered that moment, and especially his shocked face that she had dared to smack him in the face for his snottiness. “You deserved that for having the Hippogriff persecuted because you were too stupid to follow a few simple rules in Hagrid's class...”

“Looking back, you're probably right, though it still hurts sometimes.” He mocked some pain while rubbing his nose.

“I certainly hope so!” she replied with a broad grin which then turned into a yawn; it was getting late, and she had to get up early tomorrow—at least earlier than Malfoy, she guessed. “Sorry, it's just getting late.”

“Continue reminiscing of our past tomorrow?” he said, still smiling, in response to her yawning.

She shook her head, and finished her bottle. "Sorry. Harry said he wanted to visit me for dinner. He's just checking on me, you know?"

"I understand. Better not come here, then."

"Yes. Or you will have your guts ripped out, I guess..."

* * *

 

"You look good!"

"Thanks, Ginny, I know I look exhausted," Hermione replied, hugging her friend briefly but cordially, when she and Harry arrived for dinner the next evening. Hermione wasn't exactly in the mood to receive her friends, but they insisted on checking on her every now and then to make sure she was okay. "But _you_ look good!"

"Thanks." Ginny let go of her with a broad smile and went inside.

"You look good, too, Harry. Anything I need to know about you two?" She hugged him as well and just as cordially; even if she felt somewhat disconnected to her friends and families, it didn't mean that she loved them any less.

"No, no... Just had a good day at work." He let go. "But Ginny's right, you look better than last time." He followed her inside.

"I always forget how small your place is," Ginny remarked when they came in.

"I can't just magically enhance it, this is a Muggle neighbourhood," Hermione replied, barely containing the sarcasm in her voice. "Beer, anyone? Dinner is almost ready..."

Ginny smiled and followed her into the kitchen. "Mum asked after you. She misses you, you know?"

"Yes, I know. Everybody seems to miss me these days–"

"You're still family, even if it didn't work out with Ron."

Hermione opened the fridge to hand Ginny the bottles. If only they knew that the break-up with Ron wasn't the reason for her to move here but simply another consequence of her mixed, diffuse feelings. "I know."

"It smells delicious in here," Harry commented when he joined them, leaning against the door frame.

"Just some braised meat and vegetables. My mum gave me her recipe." She handed him the last bottle in her hand. "So, how's everyone?"

"Slowly doing better. George still has days when he buries himself in work at the joke shop, but Ron decided to help him out for a while," Harry mentioned, and plopped his bottle open.

Ginny wanted to do open her bottle the Muggle way as well, but she struggled a bit until the lid of her bottle finally came off as well. "Mum still cries from time to time, especially when she sees one of Fred's old jumpers, or something else that belonged to him, but otherwise, she's almost like before."

"I remember how she and George couldn't stop crying at the funeral," Hermione said. Yes, the day they had buried Fred had been a very bad day for all of them, but it had hit Molly and George the hardest—Molly had lost one of her children, something that no mother should have to go through; George had lost his twin, his other inseparable half.

"Yes. It was a tough day." Harry took a gulp of his beer. "But it looks like George and Angelina are dating now; at least, I've seen them a few times out together."

"That's nice to hear..." Hermione smiled, and checked the meat in the oven.

"What about you? Found someone?" Ginny asked, albeit in a more joking manner.

"I'm not even looking for someone right now, Ginny."

"No cute boy coming to that doctor place of your parents? You still work there, right?"

"Yes, I still work there. And no, nothing of interest, it's mostly elderly people anyway." No, Hermione wasn't even thinking about starting to date again. She had to come to terms with other things first, yet Ginny asked her every time.

"Pity. But maybe one day--"

"Yeah, maybe one day," Hermione repeated with a friendly smile. She was happy for them to have found each other, and she smiled a bit broader when she noticed Ginny taking Harry's hand in an unceremonious, tender way. Yes, she was happy for them. “So, you're still practising for the try-outs this summer?” she asked, then checked the clock, only to realise that the meat was finished cooking.

“She's covered with bruises,” Harry replied, and let out a small, despaired sounding groan.

“You have even more bruises,” Ginny countered.

“But only because you have me practise with you all the time...”

Hermione smiled at the banter, and finally pulled the meat out of the oven. “You two can already sit down. Dinner will be ready in a few moments.”

 

“So, he tried to fool me with a feigned attack, and then he suddenly started to slip off his broom. You should have seen him hang on to his broom,” Ginny recounted a practice accident over dessert, barely able to finish the story because she started to laugh over it; even Harry giggled.

“Molly wanted to bring me to St. Mungo's when she heard me crash down; my dear Ginny only told me to stop whimpering and get up again.”

Now Hermione laughed, too. Yes, Ginny had a very high threshold for pain and sometimes forgot that others weren't so tough. Molly, on the other hand, tended to be overly careful with her children.

“In the end, I still had me checked out, and they said I had sprained several joints... So, now Ron has to play with her–”

“And you know how he plays.”

“Gods, yes. He _was_ bad.” Hermione chuckled. “But he hasn't yet ended up in hospital, has he?”

“Not yet. Mum said I should be careful with him.”

Then, suddenly, Harry turned his attention to the door, looking alarmed. “Did you hear that?”

Hermione turned her head towards the door. “What?” she asked apprehensively.

“There was a faint _crack_ as if someone was Apparating...” He got up to check at the window.

“Harry, please sit down again, it was probably just some door or something like that,” Hermione replied. She had heard the sound, too, and had actually hoped that they hadn't noticed it. But Harry still had his reflexes from the war, his ears were still sensitive to the faintest sound, and he still checked the surroundings for shadows. She followed him to the door, still wanting to persuade him to come back, though she knew full well that it was pointless. So much for a nice evening with her friends...

“It wasn't a door, Hermione.” He took one look outside and immediately stiffened. “What's _he_ doing here?!”

“Who?” Ginny asked, joining them, and wanting to have a look too.

“Hermione, what's _Malfoy_ doing on your doorsteps?” Harry asked in a deep growl. “What, on earth, is _he_ doing here?”

Hermione sighed, but crossed her arms in defiance. “He sits there. Is that good enough for an answer?”

“Why? Why are you allowing Malfoy to sit on your doorstep?”

“Because this is _my bloody house_ and I decide who can sit on my doorstep...”

“Hermione, you can't possibly trust him,” Ginny added, joining Harry in taking his hand again.

“Gods, I was at his bloody hearing, remember? You didn't bother to show up at his hearing, you even only attended his mother's hearing because you _had_ to as a witness after she saved your life. For the last nine months, you didn't care about their fate–”

“And you did?” Harry retorted, flexing his hands in irritation.

“I cared enough to keep Malfoy from being sentenced to house arrest like his parents. Harry, I know what he's done, what he had to go through–”

“It seems he's succeeded in blinding you. He's still a liar, Hermione–”

“He is not, Harry! All we do is talk, he hasn't been inside my house, and we usually sit on the steps and talk over a beer.” She glared at him, annoyed that he just had to play the big brother on her again. “I know you don't like to hear that, but we both feel lonely and somewhat cast out—Ginny, don't!” She raised her finger to warn her friend not to say a word right now. “You both have no bloody idea what it is like to feel this lonely and in severe need of a re-adjustment to the post-War society. You know, he asked me about forgiveness, and I gave him Arendt to read amongst–”

“Muggle authors?” Harry asked surprised.

“Yes,” Hermione replied, letting her head fall back in frustration. “We connected over our loneliness, because he gets it.”

“We don't?”

“No, Harry.” Hermione shook her head. “You just want me to come back, get a job at the Ministry and be content that the War is over. And you, Ginny, you ask me every time if I found someone. It's annoying!”

“Hermione, we just care about you, okay?” Ginny replied, trying to keep a friendly tone. “I mean you withdrew to this place, you don't want to come to the lunches any more, and you broke up with my brother–”

“And now Malfoy sits on your doorsteps,” Harry added, sounding something between worried and irritated. “This isn't good.”

“Says who?” Hermione sneered. “Don't even try telling me what I can do and what I can't. Don't tell me that I can't talk to Malfoy about feeling lonely and uprooted, _because he gets it_. You can't forbid me to connect with him over that fact that we don't feel at _home_ anywhere. Just don't.”

“Hermione, you know you're always welcome at the Burrow, –” Ginny started, but got interrupted by Harry.

“But having _him_ on your doorsteps now feels like _home_?” Harry asked with a raised voice, pointing at the door.

“I never said that. You just don't want to listen, do you?” Hermione retorted, raising her voice as well. She had never been intimidated by his angry outbursts. “I love you all, but right now, the Burrow is _not_ the place I want to be.”

“It's Malfoy, for God's sake!”

“I KNOW!”

“Then you will tell him that he can't come here–”

“HELL KNOWS I WON'T!” Hermione saw him flinch at her outburst, which gave her a short moment of satisfaction. “You're not my brother, Harry...” Taking a deep breath, she went for the door. Holding it open, she harshly demanded, “Now, please leave.”

“Hermione–” Ginny started, but stopped when she saw Hermione's determined expression that didn't allow for any further discussion.

 

Draco turned around as soon as he heard the door being opened, and immediately got up when he saw Potter in the frame, about to be thrown out. He knew that his old rival was here when he had fled the Manor earlier after another row with his father—it was somewhat satisfying to watch Potter being dismissed by Granger.

“Just get out. This is _my_ house. _I_ decide who gets to stay and who should better leave right now, no one else.” She shortly looked at Draco, and nodded once in his direction.

“Hermione, you can't be serious about this–”

“Stop it, Harry. You're my friend, but, right now, you have no right to question _my life_ or my decisions.” She Summoned their coats and bags to throw them at her friends. “This is _my_ place, and Malfoy can stay if he wants to. You, on the other hand, should better leave.”

“HERMIONE!”

“Let her be,” Ginny tried to assuage Harry who was seething, “you won't be able to change her mind. Not like that. She just needs time to see her mistake.” She took his hand, and started to pull him towards the road. “Let's leave.”

“We will talk about this,” Harry warned Hermione. “And you, Malfoy, I don't know what your motivation is to come here at all, but it better be bloody good...”

Draco simply smirked, he was used to Potter treating him like this, it was nothing new. “I see, you haven't changed a bit,” he said, shrugging. “Still hanging on to the same old things...”

“Says the Death Eater,” Harry retorted.

“I couldn't care less about what _you_ think. But I'd better leave if I were you, Granger looks like she's about to hex you...”

“He's right, Harry. You better leave. And yes, we _will_ talk about this, when you've come to your senses."

With one last growl, Harry left for the hidden spot they had used for Apparating here, Ginny easily following his fast stride.

“Sorry about that.” Hermione sighed deeply when she finally saw them turn around the corner.

“Quite a show you put up there.” Draco came up the steps, a small smile on his lips. He noticed how she tried to hide her upset state behind her usual smile; it was her eyes—they were still burning with an intensity that surprised him. But it only added to his impression that she seemed to feel similarly as he did—lonely with a side of furious. That fire in her eyes resonated with his own still simmering anger from the argument with his father earlier.

“At least you've kept your snark, I noticed.”

“Oh, with Potter? I'd never not be snarky around him, he just asks for it.”

“Idiot,” she countered, chuckling. “He heard you Apparate, and he just _had_ to check through the window. Old habits die hard.” She rubbed her arms. “Want to come in? I still have a couple of beers left, plus some dinner if you're hungry.”

“I'm not sure I should come in...”

“Don't worry about Harry,” she replied with a warm smile, and beckoned him inside. “As I said, this is my place, and he knows better than to piss me off any further.”

“Ironic though that the biggest _hero_ of our time is afraid of your wrath,” he remarked, and then followed her inside. In the first moment, he was surprised how small it was. Magical Enhancement Charms being used so rigorously in the wizarding world to extend any living space, few places lacked space. Either the Ministry hadn't granted her the use of said Magical Enhancement Charms in a Muggle neighbourhood, or she just hadn't applied them for any reason., so this was what a proper Muggle place looked like...

“He should be.” She went for the kitchen to get the beers.

Draco used the few seconds until she came back to have a short look around, not surprised to find two walls plastered with book shelves, though she also had those Muggle devices that he never quite understood. Yes, this place really screamed _Granger_. He liked it; it had a comfortable feel to it—a complete contrast to the Manor.

“So, why did you show up tonight?” she asked curiously when she came back, a bottle in each hand. “I mean I warned you that Harry wouldn't like seeing you here, so you probably have a very good reason...”

“You mentioned something about _having my guts ripped out_ ,” he replied, raising his eyebrow mockingly. “Since I still have my guts, I think that went better than expected...”

“Yeah, I guess so.” She pointed at the sofa, then handed him one the bottles. “So, did anything happen?” she then repeated her initial question.

Draco nodded, and let himself fall on the sofa; he had almost forgotten the reason why he had come here, but Granger started to have this effect on him. “My father found your books, and we had a fight about it. I never thought I'd ever hear him shout at me that loud. I think my ears rang for a couple of minutes after I left the Manor.” He opened his bottle with a _plop._ “He thinks I've gone mad for reading those books. I'm afraid he's incinerated them.”

“I can buy them again,” she replied, playing with the lid of her bottle. “What did you tell him?”

He shrugged. “That I was trying to find answers to some questions. I didn't mention you, though, or I'd be in St. Mungo's right now.” He swirled the bottle in his hands, studying her; she looked at him with those earnestly curious eyes, interested in what he was telling her. Just as she found his change in attitude—at least towards her—rather weird, he wasn't used to be looked at the way she was looking at him. It made him open up to her, as if he was in some safe, comfortable bubble next to her. And it made him want more—more of that comfortable safety, more of her.

“Seriously? That bad?”

“I told you that he still tries to tell me what to think or do. But he can't impress me anymore.” He looked down on his hands for a moment, mentioning his father still managed to rile him up again. He took a sip in the hope it would diffuse his resurging anger. “So, Potter found out about us talking?” he then asked, changing the subject because he knew she wanted to steam off. She had never been one to hold it in for long, not even at Hogwarts—that had made riling her up in those days so easy, but now he preferred seeing her smile again.

“Yes. They sometimes think they know better,” she replied cynically, and finally opened her bottle, letting the lid jump to the floor in a high arch.

“The lazy redhead didn't bother coming along?”

“Don't call him that, even though you might be right,” she replied, raising her eyebrow at him.

“Come on, that wasn't even an insult, Granger, I was merely stating a fact.”

“I know. I just don't like you calling him that, that's all. And no, he didn't come tonight. Harry said he couldn't come because of work...”

“ _Work_ , yeah. He's probably dating someone else and just didn't want to brag about it in front of you...”

“Ginny would have told me!”

“Sure?” he replied, and then cracked a teasing smile. He liked how she managed to defend her ex, and in the same time still agreed with him. Yes, that was Granger.

Hermione chuckled and after another sip from her beer, she continued, “Harry wasn't even at your hearing, and he still dares to call you a liar, you know?”

He turned his head to look at her. “He did?” he asked, though he wasn't exactly surprised that Potter would continue to distrust him.

She nodded. “Yes. Like he wanted to say, ' _Malfoys are liars, don't trust them_ ', or ' _they just play the victim to avoid sentencing_ '. Idiot,” she grunted, and took a sip to flush her irritation down.

“My family has been rather flexible with the truth in the past,” he admitted. “But I wouldn't risk lying to you now.”

“I know.”

 

"So, one evening—I think it was a late summer evening at the Burrow—Ron sits next to me at the table after we finished dinner in the garden, and he bloody tries to be intimate, kiss me and stuff. And I was sitting there thinking, 'nope, not going to happen'. I was so _not_ turned on by what he was doing, and even less so by his kisses," Hermione recounted hours later, and took a gulp from her now third bottle of beer. "I think I broke up with him shortly afterwards..."

Draco studied her for a moment—alcohol definitely loosened her up quite a bit, her cheeks flushed from the mix of alcohol and anger, and her eyes burning in dark amber. Potter must have severely pissed her off; he had only witnessed the last part of their argument, despite having been the cause of it. And she was mighty frustrated. Oh yes, she was most definitely intense in everything. Was she liked that in bed too? He immediately shook his head to lose that thought again. "I remember a similar moment with Pansy–"

"You and Pansy... I still can't believe it. I mean she wasn't the brightest witch–"

"She was no _you_ , but she wasn't stupid either," he replied a bit more defensive than he intended. After all, Pansy had been the closest thing he ever had to a girlfriend, and he had liked her at least somewhat. "She was okay, and she would do whatever I asked her. Most of the times, she was good enough for relief. That was nice to have, but gods, her groping sometimes wasn't a big turn-on either."

"You're such a romantic type, Malfoy."

"What can I say? It's not like I had many opportunities to be, right?" he retorted cynically. "And how many times do I have to admit that I was a selfish arse back then, Granger?"

"A few more times, I think," she replied, a devious smirk on her lips.

"Really?" he groaned. He was never going to live that up, was he? "So, you were turned off by his kisses?" he then asked, flushing down his irritation with a gulp from his bottle.

"God, yes! It was like being kissed by a dog sometimes, you know? All sloppy and wet. I mean he was sweet and loving as boyfriend, but I was missing something... I wanted something more passionate, more exciting, you know? Something that would sweep me off my feet." She huffed and rubbed her face. "He just didn't do it for me..."

"Ever tried it with someone else? Potter maybe?" Draco doubted that Potter would be any good for her, too bloody good for his own sake; it made him chuckle at his own words.

"Harry? Gods, no! He's like my brother, I could never kiss him like that!" she retorted and laughed out loud, her cheeks blushing from her embarrassment about that idea. "Gods, no!"

"What about now? I mean with me?" He tried to keep a playful tone in his voice, mostly to hide the fact that this was something he had started to think about recently.

He had always been drawn to her fire, her challenging nature—though it had mostly annoyed him back in Hogwarts—but now he was drawn to her because of her willingness to give him a chance, and being close to her almost every evening during their talks over the last couple of weeks only added to it all. He didn't really expect an answer to his question anyway, and he could always play it down as a joke. But to his surprise, he noticed that Hermione was looking at him in some bewilderment, her brows furrowed—she must have like a million questions race through her mind.

After a seemingly endless moment, a devious smirk grew on her lips. "You think you're such a good kisser?" she replied, playing the innocent girl—the teasing smile on her lips, however, betrayed her game. "You think you'd be able to _sweep me off_ my feet?"

Oh gods, she was really considering it! Draco almost choked on his beer, hearing her answer. "Oh, why not find out then?" he replied, still coughing, but keeping his teasing tone. "It's not like as if anyone will ever believe me anyway that I kissed you..."

She giggled in response to his choking coughs. "I hardly believe that you even proposed it," she said, giggling once more.

Draco took her giggling as a sign that she had now completely forgotten about her previous anger; he actually liked the sound of her giggle. "What? Can't a Slytherin be straight-forward for once?" He sat up to put his bottle on the sofa table; he started to feel rather excited about the fact that she hadn't yet stopped him—it encouraged him to dare the next step, leaning closer.

"Slytherin and straight-forward?" she snorted. "You're joking, right?" She sat up as well, putting her bottle on the table next to his.

"Oh, there are a few things I don't joke about..."

His remark made her laugh again, with what Draco thought a slight nervous undertone. "You seriously have some nerves," she said, shaking her head in amused disbelief, but still coming closer. "Harry will kill you for this."

Now Draco couldn't keep a straight face any longer, with her leaning towards him. "Sod him," he countered, placing his hand gently on hers, just to test her a bit. She didn't pull back, and the touch even had an electrifying effect on him.

They hadn't really touched before, as he preferred to respect her boundaries—and touching, even just a simple pad on the shoulder, had previously felt like a violation of those unspoken boundaries. So yes, he figured that it was up to her to make any first move; he had already been happy enough to just talk to her. But this now? This was utterly exciting, with her only inches away, looking at him with those expectant, dark amber eyes. “Granger?”

"Shh..."

"I was only joking," he husked, able to take in her scent now—it was a subtle hint of jasmine and books.

"You weren't." She tilted her head slightly, licking her lips. And then, after another heartbeat, she completely surprised him with pressing her lips on his.

"No, I wasn't," he breathed seconds later, blown away by her audacity. And her hair was really as soft as he had thought ever since he could see it from up close, raking his fingers through it.

Oh, she was definitely worth following that stupid rule if it meant she would do something like that! Encouraged by her hands running through his hair—surely messing it up completely in the process—he then claimed her lips in a second kiss, daring to deepen it because he definitely wanted to roam her mouth now, and suck on those lips until they were all red and puffed.

* * *

 

The next day, all Hermione could think of in her hung-over state was what had driven her to actually dare to kiss Malfoy of all people the evening before. If only she could completely blame the alcohol she had had in her system at that point, but she wasn't so sure about that now. At least it was Saturday, which meant she didn't have to face anyone else today, and gave her time to sort her thoughts out. God, they had only kissed for a few minutes at tops, yet he _had_ managed to sweep her off her feet with it.

She could still feel his fingers rake through her hair, and it sent shivers down her spine. She hadn't previously really thought about him that way—she even wondered what had driven her to respond to his proposition like she had; and then the kiss just _had_ to resonate in her, utterly excite her. His lips had been so soft, yet eager to meet hers. It was just that now she didn't quite know at all how to handle this situation—as fantastic as their kiss had been, it also felt like some sort of breach of boundaries between them; so far, they had only talked, only just started to like each other, and were slowly building what could be considered a friendship. A kiss shouldn't be part of that.

Contemplating the consequences of her drunken move all afternoon, Hermione managed to at least do her laundry to feel somewhat productive that day. She was putting the folded laundry away in the evening when she heard a knock on her front door, which surprised her because no one really visited her on a Saturday without notice. They all knew that she wanted to be prepared for her visitors. Somewhat irritated, she finally opened the door and was rather baffled to see Malfoy stand there, smiling and clad in a nicely fitting casual coat. “I kind of didn't expect you today,” she said after a few seconds of staring at him in disbelief, the memory of their kiss flashing through her mind again, making her blush lightly.

“I can see that,” he replied teasingly. “Did you even change today?”

“Saturday is pyjama day.” She stepped aside and let him in. “But what are you doing here? I mean it's too early for your usual appearance–”

“Oh, I know, Granger. But I thought I could invite you to dinner tonight for once.”

“Dinner?”

“Yes, but I won't take you out looking like _this_ ,” he replied, nodding, and pointed at her pyjama.

“Why?” She was still baffled at his proposal. “I mean, we were drunk and everything, but–”

“No, no, don't get me wrong, Granger!” he stopped her with a chuckle. “This is for standing up to your friends for me, nothing else.”

“Right.” She smiled, and started to like the idea of being taken out by Malfoy. She probably wouldn't have agreed to go out if her friends had asked her, but it was Malfoy, not her friends. She just didn't quite believe him that it was just for standing up to her friends for him. “Okay, I'll get ready then. Do I need to wear anything fancy?”

He shook his head. “No, whatever you feel comfortable in. Though I wouldn't mind something nice to look at–”

“Whatever,” she countered. “Make yourself comfortable, I'll hurry. In the meanwhile, feel free to check out the rest of my books...” She pointed at the other side of the living room area, and then, with a smile, started climbing the stairs.

 

About an hour later, they settled at the table of a nice little Italian restaurant not too far off from her place that had looked cosy from the outside. “You ever had Italian food?” Hermione asked rather naively when they sat down at the table at the window.

“You'd be surprised, but yes, I have had Italian food before,” Draco replied, sounding as if he was amused that she even thought about asking that. “My family has a summer house in Northern Italy, at the Adriatic coast.”

“You probably have a house everywhere in Europe,” she mocked, and pulled the small menu card from the holder.

“No, just that one plus one in Southern France, I think.” He grabbed the other menu card to have a look at it. “Oh nice, they have my favourite!”

She smiled broadly. “So, you really just take me out as a thank you for fighting my friends?” Thank God for the menu card, she wouldn't have been able to look at him right now.

“Good evening,” the waiter greeted them politely—he was an elderly, likeable man with a well-polished smile, and thick Italian accent. “Do you know what you want to order? Or do you need more time?”

“What do you say, Granger, two glasses of red wine?”

She nodded in agreement. “I take the Peperonata, and a small salad,” she said, smiling at the waiter, who noted her order on his little pad.

“I never took you to be a pizza lover,” Draco commented, and looked up as well. “I'll take the Arrabiata, but with spaghetti, not penne, no salad. And two glasses of your best red wine.”

“And I never took you to be the spicy type,” she remarked dryly, and put the card back in the holder.

“Thank you.” With a smile and a bow, the waiter left them again to give the orders through to the kitchen.

“You'd be surprised how spicy I actually like it,” Draco said teasingly.

“Oh, I _can_ imagine,” Hermione replied, smirking. His constant teasing remarks gave her the impression that this invitation wasn't about her standing up for him, but rather a consequence of their kiss. She still wasn't quite sure how to take it, but she decided that she wouldn't bring it up if he didn't bring it up either, and rather enjoy the evening.

Draco looked outside for a moment, as if he was looking for something. “You know, the Muggle world is rather strange sometimes. I mean how they do things without magic,” he finally continued, turning his attention back to her. “But from what I was able to read before my father discovered your books, it is also surprisingly similar to our world.”

“What do you find strange?”

“Muggle technology mostly. I mean... How does a—what's it called?— _cart_ work?”

“You mean _cars_? That people use to drive in?”

He nodded, grinning sheepishly. “Yes, cars.”

She smiled warmly, his open embarrassment for not remembering the expression was almost endearing. “They have what I think is called a combustion motor where a fuel is burned which produces the energy that in turn moves the wheels, and voilà, the car moves. That's as simple as I can put it...”

“But it still takes ages to get somewhere that way, does it?”

“Compared to what wizards can use, yes, it takes ages. Though I remember that I liked the trips I used to take with my parents before I got into Hogwarts. Driving there had always been fun, and my father always tried to make it worth remembering, like make a visit to some place, a museum for example, before we got to our destination. Or I remember getting excited about flying to Italy for our vacation at the beach as a little girl. Sometimes it's just as much about the experience of travelling as the destination itself...”

The waiter brought their wine. “Your dinner will be served shortly. Signorina, would you like your salad as an entrée or as a side to your pizza?”

“As a side, thank you.”

Draco watched the waiter leave again, and then raised his glass for toasting. “To whatever this has become.”

“Yes, to whatever this has become,” she repeated and raised her glass as well. It had definitely become confusing, this much was clear, but she also figured that his inviting her to dinner—even if it was only to this small Italian place—was a surprisingly nice gesture, a step into the right direction. So, yes, she was enjoying the evening very much, even though she hadn't initially planned to go out at all; she took a first sip from her wine. “Hmm, nice.”

“Yes.” Nodding, he put his glass back down. “There's something else you told me about the Muggle world that made me think. Those two wars...”

“What about them?”

“You were rambling about them a couple of days ago–”

“I wasn't rambling!”

“You were. And you love doing it...” He chuckled when she shot him an annoyed glare. “But seriously, you said they reminded you of the way the Ministry is handling the situation right now–”

“They do, yes. You want to know more?”

Draco nodded. “Muggle history wasn't really covered in Muggle Studies if I remember correctly?”

“No, it definitely wasn't. But it should be included in my opinion.”

“Maybe.” He shrugged. “You said that the events after the first war triggered the second, right?”

“Yes. Germany as the losing party—they hadn't even started it all—had to pay an unbelievable amount of reparations, they still pay for it if I remember correctly. Then there was a recession, which gave a racist movement the opportunity to take over. Thinking about it now, that movement wasn't so different to the Death Eaters.” Hermione watched him closely as she made that comparison, but he seemed to listen intently, without even thinking of objecting. “They were elitist, agitating against those they thought second-class or even unworthy of life—back then it was mostly Jews, but they didn't refrain from interning or executing mentally ill people, political dissidents, basically anyone who didn't adhere to their ideal of the perfect human. Just like Voldemort and his followers were agitating and persecuting those they thought didn't adhere to their ideal of the perfect wizard or witch.”

“A salad and Pizza Peperonata for the signorina, and the Spaghetti Arrabbiata for the signore.” The waiter placed the plates in front of them, pulling them from their moment.

“Thanks.” Hermione started with her salad, though her pizza looked gorgeous, just the way it should be. She put the first fork of salad in her mouth when the waiter left them again.

“This is just scary what you told me,” he finally commented while forking his first load of his spaghetti. “So, you say that the Death Eaters—me included—were like those... those people? You're serious about that?”

“To be honest, yes, I am.” Hermione had finished her small salad, and started cutting up her pizza. “Though reality is probably not as simple, your case for example–”

“ _My_ case?”

“You were raised in that environment, just like the children back then in that dictatorship—no chance to escape the indoctrination, so you _had_ to believe it. And in the end, those children were used in the war.”

He nodded. “Like I was used you mean to say,” he commented laconically, and filled his mouth with another fork load of pasta.

“I guess you were. We all were. Like pawns.” She put her first cut piece of pizza in her mouth, and immediately let out a small moan of delight. “Delicious.”

“Gods, one could think that pizza is giving you an orgasm,” he snickered, highly amused about the sounds she was making from just eating a piece of pizza. “Is that what you sound like–?”

“Malfoy!” she choked, not hiding her own amusement about his remark. “You'd like to know, don't you?”

“Oh, do I?” Raising his eyebrow in a teasing manner, and started rolling up another fork load of spaghetti, while watching her cut up another piece of her pizza,; he was definitely eager to hear her make those sounds again while chewing.

However, they spent the rest of their dinner mostly in silence, and Hermione had a good chance to study him in the meantime—he rolled up each fork load rather slowly, as if he was in deep thoughts; his openly pensive face did surprise her, it was clear that her words had struck a chord with him.

The waiter came back to their table when they were finished with their dinner. “Would you like a dessert? Tonight's special is my wife's tiramisú, molto bene!”

“That's sounds like a wonderful finish, don't you think, Malfoy?”

“If it makes you moan again like before,” he replied, and dabbed his mouth clean with his napkin to hide his grin when she let out another mocked groan at his remark.

“Yes, please, one for each,” she then answered the waiter's proposition.

“Of course, Signorina.” And with their empty plates in his hands, the waiter left them again, shouting something in Italian into the kitchen, from which a female voice responded; it sounded as if his wife was indeed standing in the kitchen.

“You know, _pawns_ might be fitting for what happened to us,” he then continued in a more serious tone, returning to their previous subject before their respective dinners had arrived. “But is your knowledge about those Muggle wars really the reason why you think that forgiveness is so important for our society to move forward?” Draco asked when the waiter was out of earshot once more, studying her intently.

“Yes, I guess it is.” She shrugged, and looked straight back at him—she thought she could see a notion of pensive doubt flash up in his eyes. However, she still took his questions and his willingness to listen as signs that he was going through a change in thought, and a probably rather humbling one at that. “We can't persecute every single wizard or witch for what they've done in the War. Depending on the involvement, we need to be able to forgive...”

He nodded, and looked out of the window, biting his lower lip. “I know we've talked about this before, but this is really something I want to know,” he started a few seconds later.

Hermione watched him staring outside, his gaze fixed on one of the cars parking just in front of the small restaurant; she noticed that his previous playfulness was gone. “What do you want to know?” she beckoned, knowing now that if he started like this, it was going to be something that was important to him.

“Do you think you could forgive me?” he finally asked quietly, still looking outside. “I mean what I've done in the War?”

Even though they had in fact already talked about whether she could forgive things done in that War, Hermione was still blown away by his question and didn't know what to respond in the first moment. Malfoy was asking her to forgive him—that was definitely something. She remembered her impression of him at his hearing, that she thought that he was hiding a feeling of guilt beneath his cocky defiance. Was that why he was asking? Because he actually felt guilty about it? In order to stop her own mind from going in circles—and to gain a few more seconds before responding—she finished her wine.

"I... That is still an immensely difficult question to answer, Malfoy," she finally broke the silence between them, and saw him nod slowly in agreement, his eyes still fixed on that car outside, holding his breath.

Was he waiting for her judgement? Was her opinion _so_ important to him?

"Look... I thought about that question, too, ever since we first talked about it and you showed me your Mark, you know? What I mean is, if you had asked me that same question right after the War, maybe even right after your hearing, I don't know whether I would have been able to answer it. Probably not. I think I might have even hexed you for daring to ask me that with everything your family has put me through..." She smiled faintly when she saw him nod again, without the slightest objection to her words. Breathing in, she leaned forward. "But you've changed since those days... You sound like you're willing to take the chance and do better."

At that, Draco turned his head back, now looking straight at her—his eyes were a stormy grey now, reflecting his own inner turmoil in that moment.

Again, Hermione was surprised by him, even taken aback by his expression, that he let her see what was going on inside him. Her, of all people. This was definitely something she would never have guessed might happen, and yet he was sitting here, with her, brave and humble enough to genuinely ask her for her forgiveness. She tried to smile, hoping it would come across as warm and encouraging. "Yes, I think I am able to forgive you for what you had to do in the War," she said, whispering now to her own surprise. "You did what you had to do to keep your family safe..." As soon as she had said those words, she could see a weight lifting from his chest; he finally let out that breath he had been holding while she had tried to formulate her answer.

"However, you were still an elitist arse at Hogwarts–"

"Really, Granger? You _had_ to add that?" he countered, flashing a hugely relieved smile, and raked his hands through his hair. "Sounds like you'll hold that against me for the rest of my life..."

"Just for a little while longer. I wasn't exactly innocent either."

"Finally! You admit it!" he let out in mock exasperation, grinning broadly.

She chuckled. "Just remember, I do forgive, but I do not forget, Malfoy, okay?" she then added in more earnest tone. "Your Mark should always serve you as a reminder not to repeat those things..."

"It's the first thing in the morning I'm reminded of, and the last thing in the evening. Believe me, I won't _ever_ forget those days."

"Good. Besides, that I forgive you doesn't mean I free you from making amends, from trying to redeem yourself. I just no longer hold it against you." His curt nod showed her that he understood and accepted it, that he better heeded her words if he didn't want to lose her again—as a friend, or whatever this was turning into.

The waiter came back with their dessert, two delicious looking portions of tiramisú. “Enjoy, my wife's tiramisú is loved by a lot of customers.”

“Thank you, it looks gorgeous!” Hermione immediately dug her dessert spoon into her portion. “Come, let's talk about something else. I think we dwelt long enough on that matter... Is there anything else about the Muggle world you want to know?” she asked when the waiter had left their table again. “Anything that you find weird?”

“Yes, how do those—what was it called in Muggle Studies?—those _telephones_ work? I think I saw one at your place,” Draco asked, digging into his dessert in front of him.

“You should have paid better attention in Muggle Studies, you know?” she retorted teasingly, glad that the more playful tone between them had returned to some extent.


	3. Chapter 3

" _Something happened, I'm at the – Hospital, Hermione"_

That note seriously shocked Draco when he saw it hanging on Hermione's front door as he arrived a few days after their dinner for their usual door step talk. His day had been difficult enough with his father questioning him once more about his nightly whereabouts. Anxious, but hoping for the best, he went to the mentioned hospital—he seriously hoped that she was okay, that she wasn't hurt or worse. He didn't want to lose her now, not after she had given him something he never thought she'd be able to give—she had forgiven him his sins. So, no, he really didn't want to lose her now!

With that thought stuck in his mind, Draco arrived at the hospital—it was a Muggle hospital, and that fact didn't really calm him; no, it made him even more anxious because none of her friends would be delivered here, they would all end up in St. Mungo's for treatment, but Hermione had somewhat returned to the Muggle world, and she _might_ be delivered to such a place... When he entered the building, he was surprised how similar it looked to St. Mungo's—medical staff walking through the hallways checking boards and its reception in the entrance hall—but yet so different—looking all so antiseptic and straight, even smelled like this. At least the reception desk was easily recognisable as such.

"I'm looking for Granger, I was told to come here."

"You're a friend of the family?" the nurse asked, eyeing him closely.

"Their daughter, yes." As much as he wanted to yell at her for being such a fuss, he tried to keep his impatience in check—he might have acted differently if he had been in St. Mungo's, but this was a Muggle hospital. So, for Hermione's sake, he better behaved in this moment.

"Name?"

He winced slightly. "Malfoy."

The nurse looked at him curiously, then checked her files; Draco knew that his last name was very uncommon in the Muggle world, but at least the nurse wasn't looking at him in disdain as a Healer in St. Mungo's might have done. "Yes, I have a note from their daughter to let a blond young man with that name through should he ask."

"Is she okay?"

"Yes, she is okay. Don't worry about _her_. Her mother had an accident, and is currently in surgery. Just through that door there, some of her other friends are still here."

She was okay.

Draco never thought he would ever be glad to hear those words in relation to Hermione. In his relief, he shot the nurse a relieved smile. “Thanks.”

She was okay.

Those words were stuck in his head when he went for the door the nurse had indicated, and he couldn't repeat them often enough in his relief. Of course, he was hoping—again for Hermione's sake—that her mother was going to make it through as well. Peeking through the door, he immediately recognised the red hair of her Weasley friends, surrounding a group of visitor chairs like bodyguards. And Potter was there as well, the git who thought him to be a liar. To his dismay, he couldn't see Hermione, only an elder man he didn't recognise.

He slipped quietly, and stayed next to the door, waiting for Hermione to return, while watching her friends—an unsurprisingly righteous bunch of people, thinking they got the right to judge others just because they were now on the good side.

Hermione returned from the ladies' restroom, looking all worn and anxious; her friends looked at her with concern and tried to offer some solace, but she just pulled up her legs, placing her chin on her knees. She only let the older man wrap his arm around her shoulders—her father apparently—and nodded in response to something he said to her.

Draco was torn between staying where he was to avoid causing a scene with her friends and just walk up to her and make sure she was okay. But he figured there were better moments for a confrontation, and right now wasn't one of them. So he stayed put where he was, trying to get her attention as discreetly as he could, hoping she would eventually look to the door to check for him—there was no other reason why she would leave him a note other than wanting him to come as well.

A few minutes later, Hermione finally did turn her head towards the door, biting her bottom lip. Her face immediately lit up when she discovered him. Giving the others an excuse, she uncurled her legs and quietly walked over to him, a tired smile on her lips.

“Hey...”

“Thanks for coming,” she whispered in response.

“Your note had me worried, you know? I wanted to know if you were okay. You're not.”

She shook her head. "Mum's still in surgery, they said something about complications." She hugged herself, mostly to have something to hold on to.

"I'm sorry to hear that." He opened his arms in a small inviting gesture without realising the full extent; however, the invitation was enough for Hermione to let her guard drop and no longer care about any safely kept distance between them.

"Thanks," she murmured, and wrapped her arms around his waist to hold tightly onto him.

Draco was rather surprised—or rather overwhelmed—about her move, about her willingness to seek solace in him instead of her friends whom she had kept at a distance while waiting for news about her mother. When he felt her starting to even sob into his chest, he reluctantly wrapped his arms around her, stroking her shoulders carefully; he figured that she was only now allowing herself to have some sort of breakdown.

Gods, what was he supposed to do now? Just hold her? Wait until she finished sobbing? He had never before experienced a girl or a woman let herself go in such a manner in front of him—even his mother usually kept her guard up; he only heard her sob once behind the doors to her rooms in the Manor. Once. And now Hermione was crying into his chest, another first in their list. Maybe he should try to distract her, maybe with a jab at her friends?

But above his insecurity how to handle a crying Hermione, Draco still saw the irony—she had preferred to run to him, the pariah of society, over letting the bunch of her probably well-meaning, but utterly blind-sighted friends comfort her. Oh no, he definitely couldn't deny the satisfaction from that! With that thought, he held her a bit tighter, even starting to enjoy the closeness between them.

"Better?" he asked when he finally heard her sigh, a sign that she was calming down again. "Though I got the impression that you preferred to cry into an expensive shirt than a cheap Weasley jumper–"

"Malfoy, please!" she let out in an exasperated tone, muffled by the shirt, but couldn't stop a chuckle from escaping. "But yes, a tiny bit better..."

"Another first to tick off our list, then," he said, trying to keep a gentle teasing tone. "And you're definitely not like any other woman I've met."

She nodded, and tried to suppress a sob, turning it into a hiccough. "Remember that you asked about how cars work?" she then asked, and sniffed.

"Yes, during our dinner on Saturday. Something about motors and stuff."

With another nod, she turned her head to the side. "My mum had an accident with her car. Some idiot was driving in the wrong lane, and she crashed into him frontally... She had already lost a lot of blood when she was delivered here half an eternity ago. I don't want to lose her, she's my mother."

"She's going to be okay–"

"You think?" she asked quietly, and sniffed."

She's your mother, so she's probably as thick-headed and relentless as you are, not giving up so easily."

"You think I'm thick-headed?" she replied sceptically, looking up.

"I should have said determined, shouldn't I?" He tried to put up an apologetic smile when he saw her reddened and slightly puffed eyes from the sobbing. "Because you are. You won't stop until you get what you want. And you must have inherited it from someone..."

"Thanks. Though you kind of fail at empathy, you know, calling me thick-headed and everything..."

"I'm a Malfoy, and we don't really do empathy. It's not in our genes–"

"Another first for you, then," she countered, flashing a smirk.

"Probably, just don't tell anyone that I know what empathy is."

"It's tempting."

"My reputation is already ruined anyway. Just go on, destroy the image they all have of me." Draco continued with his attempt of distracting her, as it was easier for him to just mock the situation a bit than trying to openly comfort her. Oh no, that would definitely be the death of his reputation!

"Nah, don't worry. Though you might hear a few not so nice words from my parents should I ever tell them about you."

"Oh, definitely like daughter, like mother then." With a relieved smile to see her relax, he rubbed her back and loosened his grip on her. "You know, I'll stay as long as you want me to, I don't have to be anywhere tomorrow..."

She leaned her head on his chest, laying on her cheek, and sighed deeply. "I just want to know if my mum's going to survive the surgery—and if so, what her chances for recovery are. If only the surgery was over already..."

He nodded, not quite sure what to say in response to that—he did understand her anxiety to know more, it was just that he never learned to react to something like that, at least in a non-sarcastic way. “I hope you don't mind me saying that, but watching you all, and based on the way you reacted when you finally saw me, I'd say that your friends are here more out of duty, not because you really needed them.”

She shook her head. “I didn't realise you were such a good observer,” she whispered, slowly opening her arms.

Draco immediately missed her arms around him but hid his disappointment behind a soft smile; at least she looked slightly less tense. "Probably sounded harsher than I meant it to be–"

"It's okay, you're kind of right after all." Hermione brushed over her hair, trying to get a stubborn strand out of her face; her eyes were still a bit red, but she was smiling once more.

"Looks like the doctor is back from the surgery." Draco nodded into the direction of the others, and checked whether the others had noticed anything.

She turned around in expectation, and her smile widened when she saw the doctor. "Please wait here, okay? I just want to hear what the doctor has to say about Mum, and then they will probably leave anyway. It's getting late, and they do have jobs... Just stay away from Harry and Ron, okay? Not in the mood for more drama today.”

"I'll try..." Draco watched her join her father, even take his hand while listening to the doctor; he could see how anxious she was to hear how the surgery went.

And then, moments later, he could see her broad smile appear on her face, everything seemed to be okay—at least in the long run anyway. Relieved, she and her father hugged each other tightly, as if nothing had ever stood between them; Draco wished for a moment that he could say the same thing about his relationship to his own parents. He watched all her friends hug her in response to the good news, and noticed that they were all somewhat relieved—he guessed they were glad that they finally could go home, and get some sleep before having to get up for work the next day.

He slipped back through the door to hide in a corner when her friends made a move to leave; he only tried to move out of sight because Hermione had asked him to. Though it would have been fun confronting Potter and his gang in a place where neither of them could use a wand. So, instead he watched them walk by, flashing a devious smirk when he saw Potter shortly point in his direction, letting at least the red-headed devil on his arm know about his presence. So much for _no drama._

After waiting another couple of minutes to make sure that Potter wasn't suddenly coming back, Draco returned to the visitor area where Hermione was still waiting. She was alone, sitting all curled-up in one of the visitor chairs. “Hey,” he whispered when he sat down next to her. “What did the doctor say? That's the correct word, right?”

She nodded, smiling softly at his attempt to get the expression right. "Several broken bones, ruptured spleen, and more that I don't remember right now. But they said she will fully recover over time." She leaned her head on his shoulder, letting out another sigh. "Thanks for coming. Means a lot, you know?"

He nodded, resisting the urge to just place a small comforting kiss on her head. "Just let me know if you need help with something—anything."

"For the moment, it's enough that you're here, but thanks."

They sat in silence in that hall until her father came back, who had been able to visit his wife for a moment.

"How is she?" Hermione jerked up when she saw her father come, uncurling her legs to get up.

"She's asleep now, they've given her a whole load of pain medication. They're going to keep an eye on her ruptured spleen over the night. But I think it's better if we let her sleep now, and come back tomorrow."

"Are you okay, Dad? Want me stay at yours for the night?" she asked, sounding genuinely worried.

"Thanks for asking, sweetheart," her father replied warmly, and hugged her shortly. "But I'm going to be fine. Won't be the first time alone in that house, your mother has been away on business trips before–"

"This isn't a business trip, Dad."

"I know, sweetheart. But I'll need your help tomorrow, so you better get some sleep. Maybe the young man in your company will make sure of that..."

Hermione blushed rather deeply when her father mentioned him; she was clearly trying to find a suitable way to introduce him.

"Dad, he's a friend. We just talk about stuff... I mean we talk about stuff that I can't talk with someone else about."

"Good to hear you found someone like that, you still tend to bottle things up too much, my dear. Now go home, and get some sleep."

Draco nodded politely towards the older man when he eyed him up a bit more closely; he thought he could even see a glint of recognisance in her father's eyes. It made him wonder if he would have reacted differently had Hermione told her father his name because she surely must have complained to them about his bullying. Remembering his not so glorious behaviour back at Hogwarts, he suddenly felt a small bang of guilt. Gods, he really had been an arse—an entitled, elitist arse. It just took a War to make him realise that.

“You take care, too, Dad. And let me know if you want me to come over.” Hermione hugged her father shortly for goodbye. “Don't stay too long, Mum is in good hands here...”

Draco got up as well, and nodded once more politely towards the elder man before then finally following Hermione out.

 

"Are you really okay?" he asked when they reached the reception area.

She stopped in front of the reception desk, and faced him, another soft smile gracing her lips. Now that she knew about her mother's current state as well as her chance of recovery, exhaustion was finally taking over. "For the moment, yes," she then replied, nodding. "Mum's out of danger, and she's going to be okay. I'm just exhausted–"

"Will you be okay alone for the night?"

She nodded, rubbing her neck. "Yes, I think so."

Draco accepted her answer, though he was still reluctant to leave her alone after this—it would be useless to try and convince her otherwise. "I'll come by earlier tomorrow to check on you–"

"Harry might come by too," she informed him, stifling a yawn.

"He saw me already on his way out." He shrugged.

Frowning, she rubbed her brow, and even let out a groan in response. "You two, seriously–"

"Hey, I'll put up with his animosities, as long as you're okay."

"Thanks." She hugged him shortly. "I'll see you tomorrow."

* * *

 

"Where do you think you are going?"

Draco was in the main hall of the Manor, about to leave the building through the main entrance—the wards in place made sure that no one could Apparate out—when his father stopped him; he slumped his shoulders, and even shook his head slowly. "For a walk," he replied with a frown.

"Don't lie to me, son. First those books, and then your disappearance every single evening. So, where _are_ you going–?"

"What do you want me to say?" Draco retorted, raising his hands in a defensive manner while trying to keep a reasonably straight face. He shook his head once more, briefly baring his teeth in a sneer. This was but the continuation of the fallout they had over the books Hermione had lent him. This was about to go down the same path. "What do you want me to admit?"

Lucius had meanwhile crossed the hall, coming up to Draco who was still standing in the door. "The truth. Are you still visiting that Muggle-born witch?"

Yes, it was definitely going to go down _that_ path. "If you really want to know—yes, I still visit Granger. We talk, nothing more." Draco took a step back, wanting to keep distance between himself and his father.

"You just _talk,_ of course. Draco, she's a _Muggle-born_ , you seriously think that I could allow such a connection-?"

"I don't see why I would need to ask for your consent in that matter, since you managed to halfway destroy this family... I'm an adult, and if I want to see Granger, then I bloody will."

"So you admit having a relationship with her?"

Draco squinted his eyes, eyeing his father suspiciously. "What do you mean? And how would you even know? "

"Someone saw you show up at that Muggle hospital. A MUGGLE HOSPITAL, DRACO! Are you out of your mind?"

"I was there for her support, father, as friends do when one of their parents had an accident–"

" _Her support,"_ Lucius sneered.

"Yes, _her support,"_ Draco retorted through gritted teeth; he dug his fingernails into his palms to focus his mind on something else than throttling his father. "You know what? She is better than everyone else... She showed up at my hearing–"

"So did that Potter boy at your mother's–"

"Oh, _Potter_. He couldn't care less. He just showed up because he was supposed to as a key witness," Draco retorted, snorting dismissively. As in every other fight they'd had before, he felt his body tensing up, and he started flexing his fingers, as if he was unconsciously preparing himself to draw his wand at his father. “But she... she has the strength to forgive me my sins of that damn war. She didn't have to, after everything she had been put through in this place, after everything _we_ put her through—yet she did. So fuck yes, I show up when she needs support, even if that means I have to put up with her friends, and even if that means that I have to put up with _you–_ ”

"Are you sleeping with her?" Lucius cut off his son, pursing his lips as if the insinuation left a bad taste in his mouth.

"No!" Draco growled. "We talk. That _is_ all. I can discuss things with her that you don't even _want_ to understand, Father."

“She's just meddling with your mind, that girl–”

“Oh no, Father. She makes me see more clearly, for exam–”

“She _is_ meddling with your mind, my son. And I tell you to find someone else to give you your _forgiveness_ ,” Lucius insisted, his voice a cool hiss that demanded authority. “There are enough pure-blood witches of your age that would still take you; there's no need to go back to that Muggle-born–”

“No.” Draco clenched his jaws, close to snapping. “There is no one left. _No one._ So stop telling me what I'm supposed to think or do. I won't lis–”

"You're a Malfoy, for Merlin's sake!"

"I BLOODY KNOW THAT!” Draco finally exploded, closing in on his father once more; his ears were pounding, and he was fingering his wand in his sleeve, about to draw it. “You have no fucking idea how much I hate being a Malfoy right now! I'm stuck in hell because of you. _You._ ”

“Keep your voice down. You know your mother hates it when you shou–”

“It's all _your_ fault! _You_ used me like a puppet you could just sacrifice to save _your_ own fucking life. _Yours._ ” Draco didn't care how loud he was; this just had to get out now. “You _knew_ that I would do anything to save our family, but it was always about _you_! You're a selfish old man, and you fucking sacrificed _me_.” He took a deep breath to keep himself from just pulling his wand out and hex his father to show him the extent of his resentment. “Yes, I thought a lot about forgiveness, but I don't know if I'll ever be able to forgive you what you've done.”

"Draco–"

"NO!” Draco interrupted his father, he didn't want to hear what he had to say; nothing his father could say had any meaning any more. “I don't think I'll ever have the strength to forgive that you considered your life more worthy than mine,” he went on, dangerously quiet. “And I will not give up the person who is willing to give me a second chance, who can give me something you both cannot any longer—a sense of self-worth." With that, Draco started turning around, as there was nothing left to say.

“You stay here.”

Draco stopped one last time, and looked back, shooting his father a cold, lethal glare. “Make me,” was all he said before he turned around again to leave the Manor. He just had to get away from this place, and his father. No, the old man would never understand the things he had been discussing with Granger. Never.

* * *

 

Hours later, Hermione found him in a bar not too far from the small Italian restaurant they had visited before—it had actually been Mrs Thompson, her elderly neighbour, who had pointed her in the right direction. "Finally!" she let out in relief when she saw him sit at the bar, a half full bottle of beer in front of him—at least she thought it was beer. "What happened?" she asked, placing herself next to him. He looked a right mess, drinking himself senseless, a murderous hangover waiting to happen.

He slowly turned his head towards her, supported on his arm, his eyes glazed over, while he held on to the bottle with his other hand, as if it was the only thing that offered a hold.

"Hey," he drawled, and tried to smile.

"You're his friend?" the barkeeper asked, sounding concerned, but relieved that someone had shown up to take care of him.

"Yes. How much did he have?" Hermione asked, not lifting her eyes off Draco, who now tried to straighten up.

"More than enough. And his tab is still open."

She nodded, and tried to keep him from falling off his stool. "I'll take care of it. Did he say something?"

"Just something about a fight."

Great. A fight. Most probably with his father. Hermione sighed, and started fumbling for her wallet; she would ask him tomorrow for a payback.

"You need a taxi back?" the barkeeper asked when she handed him the money for Draco's tab.

"No, thank you. I'll get him back home on my own, it's just around the corner." With another sigh, she finally pulled the almost incapacitated Draco off the stool, and was surprised that he could actually stand in his inebriated state, and even more so that he could walk in a rather straight line, though still swaying quite a bit. At least he wasn't about to throw up on her, and the cool air outside might help clear his head a tad.

"Why didn't you come straight to me?" she said when they were out.

"Y-You weren't home..."

"I was in the hospital after work, visiting Mum, you know?" Gods, he was surprisingly heavy, leaning on her like he was, but—thank Merlin!—there seemed to be an empty side street only a few metres away that she could use for Apparating to her place. "Hold on to me, as tight as you can..."

At least he was still able to follow orders.

“Malfoy!” she let out in surprise when she felt his hands on her bottom, even squeezing it gently until she finally managed to pull his hands up to her waist; concentrating on her living room, she Apparated home.

"Urgh. I hate Apparating," he complained when they arrived, fighting to keep his balance.

"You hate it because you're drunk. And you had a shitload to drink, according to what I had to pay. Just please don't throw up on my furniture..." She guided him to the sofa, and helped him sit down. "I'll be right back, stay here."

And with that, she went straight to her kitchen—she didn't have a stock of Sobering Potion ready at hand, but being a witch had its advantages when it came to knowing what she had to throw together for an impromptu replacement potion that would at least lower the amount of alcohol in his system. He wasn't going to like the taste, but it would sober him up enough to avoid a severe hangover the next day.

"Drink this," she demanded minutes later, holding the glass up in front of his face. "And then I want to know what happened that you drank yourself halfway into oblivion."

"I-I didn't–"

"You did. Now drink the potion."

Reluctantly, he took the potion and sniffed. "Urgh."

"Drink it. It'll help." She saw him make a face at the smell and then take a deep breath before gulping the potion down.

"That tastes like shit."

"How's the head?" She took the empty glass and put it on the sofa table; she noticed that his eyes became more focused and clearer again, though they remained a bit distant.

"Better," he grumbled, rubbing his face. "Thanks."

She sat down on the sofa table opposite him, pushing the glass a bit further away. "So, what happened?" she asked calmly, taking in his slumped posture as well as his absent-minded playing with his ring finger.

He groaned, and leaned forward, with less grace than usual, but that was probably due to the rest of alcohol in his system despite her impromptu Sobering Potion. Instead of holding her gaze, he stared down at his palms. "Someone told my father that I showed up at the hospital. I guess it was Potter to get back at me–"

"I don't think Harry would do that–"

"I know,” he replied with a sigh. "It's just that I don't see any other possibility..."

"So you had a fight with your father? What did he say?"

He shook his head defiantly, still staring at his hands. "No."

She sighed, and then gently took one of his hands in hers. "Please."

He finally looked up, straight in her eyes. "Please... He didn't use the word, but I know he still thinks you're... that you're...”

“A Mudblood?” she suggested and saw him wince at the word.

“Yes. He'd be in St. Mungo's now if he had gone any further.”

She tried to smile at the fact that he would have defended her honour and could feel how he held her hand tightly. "Don't risk it–”

"I would have. I'm not going to let my father insult the one important person in my life, okay? Plus he thinks we have a relationship, you know, like..."

"Let him think what he wants, you and I both know the truth, okay?"

He nodded, and breathed in. "Do we?"

Hermione saw his eyes darken again in a moment of confusion. Yes, what was the truth, really?

"It's just right now, everything is rather confusing. Before we started talking, I didn't know what to believe any longer, living in some personal hell, thanks to my father..." He let out a low growl. "I was barely coping with everything because the whole aftermath is so overwhelming–"

"It is," she replied quietly, pressing his hand gently.

"And now it's you."

"Me?"

He nodded again.

"Why..." He stopped, as if he was trying to find the right words. "It's just that when my father said that _this_ is wrong, I knew it was _right_. Why are _you_ the only good thing in my life right now? Why did I feel like I didn't want to lose you when I saw your note? How can this be _wrong_?"

"It's not," she whispered, herself overwhelmed with what he was telling her.

"You know what I told him?" he asked, his voice cracking slightly from the resurging anger—the same he had tried to drown earlier. "That it's all his fault. That he just used me to save his own bloody skin. Family comes first, my arse! He made my mother believe it, and he made me believe it—and it had always been about him first. I don't think I could ever... No." He shook his head angrily, his jaws taut, his gaze fixed on her hand still holding his.

"Was that what it felt like, fighting with him?" She noticed how he held on to her hand, how he let his thumb gently run over its back in the attempt of distracting himself. It was somewhat like the simple contact kept him from losing it completely.

"Used like a pawn," he answered quietly. "I mean h-how would you feel if someone just offers you on a plate to save his own skin?"

"I wouldn't know," she whispered softly. She raised her free hand to his face that was so close to hers, as he had leaned even closer. She smiled gently when he closed his eyes at the touch of her fingers on his cheek; she could feel him take a deep breath, his mind focusing on the touch.

That he allowed her to see him so vulnerable and upset touched her—she knew that he was raised to consider it a weakness; and even she had problems with opening up like that most of the times.

She let her fingers follow the outlines of his face, gently brushing over his eyebrows, his nose, his cheeks, until she reached his lips, brushing them ever so softly. She remembered how wonderful they had felt during their first kiss, and how tenderly, yet passionate he had kissed her. Her eyes now fixed on his mouth, she leaned closer until she was only an inch or two away from him; he still had his eyes closed, but she noticed that he held his breath, waiting for what she would do now. And then... Just as softly as she had been stroking his face, she now placed her lips on his, the touch sending a shiver down her spine, giving her goose bumps.

Draco finally opened his eyes again, which were slowly changing to a darker shade. "I didn't quite know how to react after the first one," he said, his voice just a whisper.

"Hence the dinner?" Hermione was blown away by the way he looked at her now, with those darkened grey eyes, showing everything—his confusion, his hurt, but also his care for her. Her heart made a jump when she felt his hands frame her face, getting buried in her hair.

"To some part, yes. You just feel right." With that, he pressed his lips on hers again, putting everything—the whole range of emotions going through him right now—into the kiss.

Swept off her feet by his way of kissing, Hermione responded in kind, slowly getting lost in the fire of it. And she had to agree with him because right in this moment, this felt absolutely right. Sod tomorrow!


	4. Are you still just talking?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many, many thanks to _optimise_ for proofreading the chapter! :-*

The next morning, Draco woke up first, with a stiff neck and feeling completely disoriented as to where he was and what happened the night before. He was still dressed, at least, and his head wasn't throbbing too much. When he opened his eyes, he realised that he was lying on a sofa, with Hermione nestled up in front of him; she was still fast asleep and looked peaceful. Seeing her next to him, he remembered what had happened—he had had a fight with his father, and when he couldn't find her, he got completely plastered until she found him and brought him here.

He let his tongue run over his slightly chapped lips, and then he further remembered that they had ended up kissing again. Gods! It had already been an awkward moment after the last time, as he really didn't know how to react to it afterwards. He had never guessed that she would be so audacious to say yes to his request that he had meant as a joke. And now she had done it again!

What the hell was he supposed to do now?

He had come to her place because he had hoped that he wouldn't be chased away, and now she was pulling him in.

He sighed. This time, they hadn't stopped after a few minutes— _he_ couldn't stop after a few minutes because her lips had felt so damn good. This wasn't supposed to happen when he had first showed up at her doorstep...

He tried to shift his weight as gently as possible to keep her from waking, and then he propped himself up; to his chagrin, she was blocking his way off the sofa with her body. Ignoring his throbbing head, he started to climb over her. "Shit," he murmured when he hit her hip with his knee, which caused her to stir.

"Morning," she croaked, a soft, sleepy smile on her lips, and opened her eyes. "You want to leave already?"

He froze mid-climbing, smiling embarrassedly because she had caught him trying to get away silently. "Sorry," he said and tried to clear his throat. "I don't know, really."

Still smiling, she waited for him to finish climbing over her, and then turned around to sit up. "Why not stay for breakfast?"

"Don't you have to go to work or something?" He seriously hoped he could avoid having to talk about the night before, but to his chagrin, she shook her head.

"Dad decided to close the practice for a couple of weeks, with the only exception being emergencies He doesn't want to work as long as Mum is in hospital."

He nodded. "Okay, then."

* * *

 

God, how much of an idiot had she been to kiss him again last night?

Hermione used the few minutes in her bathroom to sort out her thoughts before facing Draco again. She hadn't even been drunk this time! And they hadn't stopped after a few minutes!

Her scalp tingled when she remembered how he had kept raking his fingers through her cascade of hair. If only it hadn't been so damn good both times, full of everything she had been missing whenever she had kissed Ron during their relationship, then… No, Ron's kisses had never given her goose bumps, nor had they ever made her feel as excited as the kisses she had shared with Draco.

God, this wasn't supposed to happen when they had started their doorstep talks, yet... yet now, there was some part of her that didn't want it any other way.

"I can just leave if you'd rather be alone today. I mean I... I don't want to overstay the invitation," Draco said when she came back to the living room.

"Please, don't worry about that," she replied, passing through to the kitchen. "Besides, sneaking off after spending the night together would be rather rude, wouldn't it?" she added teasingly, starting to work on their coffee while Draco sat down at the small kitchen table. She knew she had hit the nail on the head with her remark; she could tell that he was thinking about something—probably the same thing that still circled through her mind as well. Their first kiss could have been excused with both of them being drunk and feeling lonely, but a second?

"How's your mother doing?" he asked, changing the subject to what felt like a safer territory for both of them. "She's still in the hospital, right?"

Hermione opened the fridge to fish all the things out she would need for a breakfast—and today, she was in the mood for pancakes, amongst other things. "Yes, she is. The doctors are still a bit worried about her spleen, and the fractured ribs seem to be rather painful."

"Why not give her one of the potions that helps regrow bones?"

Hermione turned around. "Honestly, I thought about that. But I shouldn't meddle with that—at least not as long as she is hospital—or I'll be needing a good explanation. She's still a Muggle, so I'm just a bit hesitant to give her something like that."

"Muggles must be patient people to endure something like that."

She chuckled. "Gods, no, they aren't. And they would absolutely want to use those potions if they knew they existed. We're all just human, after all. However, I might give her something to help with healing when she is back home—of course, only if she wants it."

He nodded, tilting his head from side to side while staring outside; Hermione thought that he was even frowning a little.

"Are you going home later? I mean the Manor," Hermione asked, wincing as soon as she realised how stupid that question probably was; she could hear him groan in response.

"Yes. I only hope I'll be able to sneak in; I'm definitely not in the mood for another pointless argument with my father about you and... and what we have.”

"It's complicated enough, isn't it?" she asked, more to herself than him.

He just nodded, grimacing. "Even before, I didn't want to marry someone I don't love. I mean, all those pure-blood girls are nice to look at, but..." He let his hand run through his hair and rubbed his neck.

"I think I get it," she replied and finished preparing the dough for the pancakes. "After all, you're supposed to share your life with them, so there should be at least some affection..."

"Affection, yes," he murmured rather absent-mindedly. “It's not as if it matters any longer, anyway, as the other families are _very reluctant_ to let me even date one of their daughters. No one wants to be intimately connected to my family...”

"And _very reluctant_ is putting it nicely, right?" she replied, mixing everything together for the pancakes

"Oh yes." Draco didn't even bother trying to hide his bitterness about that.

If she had thought that occupying herself with making pancakes for breakfast would distract her from her thoughts, then she was terribly wrong. All she could think of while stirring everything together was them—how lonely he must be, and whether it was some sort of affection they now had for each other. There just _had_ to be something between them!

* * *

 

The following Sunday, Hermione was invited to join the Weasley Sunday lunch. And despite how their last shared dinner had ended, Ginny had been adamant that Hermione should join them again, as her last visit was so long ago; and Ginny added that as part of the family, she was expected to be there, despite everything, and that they would really love to see her again. Hermione had been reluctant to accept the invitation, partially because her last visit had ended with her abrupt departure, almost fleeing the scene after starting to feel overwhelmed with the noise; and partially because Draco was now added to the mix as well. She was sure that someone would bring him up at one point, and she didn't want to go through another interrogation-turned-argument about her motives and intentions with Draco.

Yet, since Ginny had insisted, she did show up.

"There you are!" Ginny came running outside when Hermione Apparated in front of the Burrow, with the intention to hug her. "Mum wouldn't believe when I told her you were coming, too..."

"I could imagine," Hermione replied, trying to sound friendly but taking a small step back because she just didn't want to be hugged right now—at least, not from Ginny.

"How's everything? And how's your mother doing? She’s still in the hospital, right?" Ginny asked her warmly, accepting Hermione's dismissal with a short-lived frown. "Come, let's go inside; it's cold enough."

"Mum's doing fine, yes, she’s still in hospital," Hermione confirmed, grateful for the subject because it meant she could avoid the other looming thing for the moment. "The doctors said that she could be released soon."

"That's great!" Ginny exclaimed in a relieved tone, opening the door.

Hermione had to smile at Ginny's enthusiastic response.

"How's everybody?" she then asked and braced herself for the chaos and the noise of the Weasley family. She would definitely have preferred to go back home and just nestle up on her sofa with a book and a nice cup of tea, but she had promised to come—so here she was, being dragged inside by her friend. After a deep breath, she put on a smile, hoping it looked warm and friendly enough.

"Oh, Ron has some news; at least he looks disgustingly happy and annoys everybody else with his good mood–"

“HERMIONE!” the others shouted in unison when she entered the kitchen, where they all sat around the big table; both Harry and Ron got up to welcome her with a small hug.

Hermione tried to keep them at a distance, just like Ginny moments before, but she wasn't fast enough to avoid a short, cordial hug from Harry while Ron held back. With their disagreement over Draco's visits still between them, this felt a bit too close for her; however, swallowing hard, followed by a quick, false smile towards Harry, she tried to contain her uneasiness for the sake of the day.

“How’s your mother?” Harry asked with a friendly smile.

“She will be released in a few days. Dad closed the practice until she’s at least back home, but probably for even longer,” she replied, trying to clear her throat. “Thanks for asking.”

“You look good,” Ron commented; Hermione was grateful that he only patted her on the shoulder, and she gave him a more genuine smile in response.

“I feel a tiny bit better. But I heard you have some news?”

His grin grew wider. “Yes, I do have some. But let's eat first, I'm hungry.”

“You're always hungry,” she teased him, only to follow her friends to the table, where everyone wanted to know what she had been doing since her last visit.

 

“No way, you didn't," Hermione exclaimed in amused surprise when Harry told her about his newest case after lunch where he had to dress like an old woman for doing observations. Ginny was in stitches, and Hermione laughed out loud at the picture, like everybody else at the table.

"Well, after all, sore muscles and strained joints do let you walk like an old woman," Harry added, himself chuckling.

"You're still not allowed to play?" Hermione asked, wiping her eyes while chuckling repeatedly.

"I believe he's rather happy to be put out of commission, my sister really is relentless and unforgiving when she plays," Ron commented in between resurfacing giggles. "We're glad she doesn't want to practise on Sundays..."

"Yeah, I can imagine." Hermione smiled warmly and finished her last bites before Molly let the empty plates float over to the sink for the washing up later. "So, what’s your news then? You were grinning broadly when I arrived–"

"Yes, brother, do tell us!" George added teasingly. "You only ever smile because of two things: when Mum calls for dinner, and a new girl. And since we just had lunch, it can only mean the other..."

Molly came back to the table. "You've met someone?" she asked, a tone of happy surprise in her voice.

Ron nodded eagerly. "Yes. At work."

Hermione joined in the happy smiles all around the table. This meant that he was no longer pining after her, and he was happy to move on and let her go. And then she remembered Draco's cynical comment that Ron hadn't come along with Harry to their dinner because he didn't want to brag about having found someone else in front of her. She knew that Draco had meant it as a joke, but it didn't surprise that he unknowingly hit the truth. Oh yes, his ability to notice the small things about others and then wrap it with sarcasm was a refreshing contrast to her straight-forward, more oblivious friends.

"Do we know her?" she asked, feeling genuinely happy for Ron, who was beaming proudly, yet slightly embarrassed.

"No, I don't think so. She was in Ravenclaw a year above us. Her name is Tilly."

"What is she like?" Molly asked sitting down again. "And what does she look like?"

Hermione exchanged a brief look with Harry, who looked like he had known earlier than the others; he probably told Ron to move on and take the chance to date that girl. She felt a bit disappointed that Ron hadn't told her earlier as well, but she could live with it.

"She's nice... She was the best in her year in Charms, if I remember right. And she _can_ cook! You should taste her pies, seriously." And Ron continued into a list of things she had cooked for him already; it sounded as if their relationship had already progressed to something more solid, which surprised them all.

"You should bring her next time," Molly exclaimed happily to Ron's embarrassment.

"I-I don't know if she wants to come," Ron stammered, his face red like his hair, much to the delight of the others.

"You know Mum won't stop badgering you until you bring her along. You knew the risk when you told us," George countered.

"Oh yes!" Ginny added, grinning at her brother's on-going embarrassment.

Amidst the ongoing discussion about why Tilly wouldn't want to come to a Weasley Sunday lunch, George suddenly looked at Hermione as if he was remembering something. "You know, I saw something peculiar this week," he started with a grin.

"What?" Hermione asked, tensing up; she had an idea where this was going, and she wasn't quite sure how to take it.

"I saw Malfoy check out our window. He didn't come in, he just seemed curious about what we have," he replied, with a short shrug. "He seemed different..."

"Malfoy?" Harry chimed in at the name of his old rival.

Hermione didn't even bother hiding her bitter smile and slowly shook her head. It had been great to hear that Draco finally went out on his own, trying to mingle with others who seem to leave him in peace on the streets, but Harry just had an impeccable timing in destroying the moment.

"Yes, Malfoy," George repeated; his short look at Hermione made clear that he had noticed her reaction. "He didn't do anything, besides check out our window."

"What's going on?" Molly asked as the conversation was now clearly taking a more serious turn.

"Malfoy," Harry started to explain. "He was in the Muggle hospital, too, where Hermione's mum is being treated."

Of course, Hermione noticed the disappointment in the glare he shot her; it made her heave a sigh. "Yes, he was there, for the same reason you were. You make it sound like a problem, Harry."

"I told you that you can't trust him, Herm–"

"I heard you the first time," she interrupted him, in a clear dislike of his tone. This was what she had expected—only one less than friendly mention of Draco was needed, and they were at it again.

"Are you still just _talking_?" Harry asked her.

"I ask again, what's going on here?" Molly asked, her voice clearly indicating that she didn't like the tone the conversation was now taking.

"Mum, Malfoy visits her every night for _talking_ ," Ginny explained, forming quotation marks with her hands.

That was the last straw for Hermione.

She snapped at her friend, only barely restraining from slamming her clenched fist on the table. "There's no need to put it like that, Ginny. I seriously hate it. Why are doing this? I thought the fact that you were so adamant about me coming to the lunch was a sign that you were willing to put it aside. I see that I was wrong to believe that." Hermione stood up, anger rising inside her, making her fingers twitch with the urge to hit Harry; she was sure that the sound of his breaking glasses would be a satisfying one.

"Herm–"

Hermione shot Harry a glare to shut him up; she wasn't finished. "It _is_ the truth when I say we only talk about things. You have no idea what he's going through, Harry,” she continued, curling her lips, and crossing her arms. “You don't want to see past your prejudices because it's easier. But I did. And unlike you, he's left alone to deal with his situation in this damn aftermath. He has had a lot of time to think about things, and we talk about those things, such as forgiveness for exam–"

"Malfoy and forgiveness," Harry said while sneering. "Hermione, he was relentless at Hogwarts, and he was a Death Eater–"

"HARRY, I KNOW! He showed me..." She was trembling by now and took a deep breath in order not to snap again. "It reminds him every single day of his mistakes. He can't escape it, just as much as I can't escape _this_ ." She rolled up her sleeve. "That is _my_ daily reminder of the things I went through, of the things I did in order to survive. Do you know what he said when he saw this? Do you?" Taking a small step towards Harry, she held up her arm with the scars from the torture at Bellatrix' hands, daring him to say something.

She had noticed that the others at the table had fallen silent by now, watching the argument with rising concern. "He fucking apologised! He told me that he should've stopped his aunt."

"I didn't mean it li–"

"No, Harry, you _did_ mean it! Who are we to judge others for their mistakes in these situations? You haven't been to his hearing, so you don't know the whole story, yet you dare to judge him..."

"I've seen Snape's memories!"

"Then you should really know better than to judge Malfoy for what he had to do. We’re no better than they are if we just put the blame on the losers of the war and ostracise them; we're just lucky enough to have ended up on the winning side. So yes, I'm willing to give Malfoy a chance to do better and forgive him for his deeds in the War."

"How can you forgive him after he tried to kill Dumbledore?" Harry stood up as well to get to the same level as her. "I was there–"

"I know! But he had no choice. He was forced, or he would’ve had to watch Voldemort kill his parents." His short wince at the mention of Voldemort gave her a short moment of satisfaction. "And _he_ didn't kill Dumbledore, Snape did, remember? And if I remember correctly, Snape bullied you just as much, and was a Death Eater, too, yet you seem to be able to forgive _him_ ? How fair is _that_ view, huh?"

"Snape is a different story–"

"NO, he isn't." She let out a disappointed sigh and rubbed her face. "He was in the hospital for support, actually willing to put up with your behaviour towards him because he wanted to make sure that I'm okay."

Now Ginny stood too. "Why would he want to make sure that you're okay? Is there something going on that we should know about?"

"Oh no, Ginny, don't even start with _that_. Right now, you have absolutely no right to ask me that, this is something between Malfoy and me, I think–"

"Hermione, please–"

"No. I came here to spend an afternoon with friends–"

"You know that you're family–"

"–WITH FRIENDS, and instead I get interrogated about private things." Hermione looked at them once more; suppressing a sob, she wiped her eyes. "I’ve had enough. I don't need to justify anything," she said quietly and then left the table to run out of the room.

"Hermione, dear, wait." Molly followed her; she caught up with her in front of the fireplace, where Hermione got ready to leave. The older woman took her hand and just pulled her into an embrace. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I know you're having a rough time at the moment."

Hermione just nodded, her face buried in Molly's shoulder. It felt nice that at least someone seemed to understand. "I hate it when they’re like that; they never listen to what I say," she whispered after a few more seconds, taking a deep breath to calm herself down.

"Don't listen to them, my dear. You understand something that they haven't yet—that we need to forgive so that we can move forward and grow together as a society."

"We really do only talk." Hermione lifted her head again. "They don't understand that I still feel lost, but Draco does. And he really wants to be better..."

"It's okay." Molly rubbed her back once more before letting go. "It really is. As long as he treats you with the respect you deserve."

Hermione nodded and tried to smile. "He does. Thanks, Molly. I'm sorry for ruining your lunch."

“Don't be. It wasn't your fault,” Molly dismissed softly. "Just be careful, but I don't have to tell _you_ that–"

"No. I’m careful, I promise."

"Good." Molly smiled warmly. "You can come by any other time just for some tea and cake if you want. I can even throw them out for an hour or two..."

Hermione chuckled at that; she wiped her eyes once more. "Thanks. I better go now. I don't think I'll be joining you on Sundays again, as long as this isn't resolved in some way."

"I understand. Don't worry about it; I'll make them see your side, my dear. Now go. I recommend that you go to that new ice cream parlour in Diagon Alley for a treat—and get a double portion of dark chocolate."

"Bye, Molly." With that, Hermione took some Floo Powder from the pot and stepped into the fireplace; with a faint smile for goodbye, she called out her destination and disappeared into the green flames.

* * *

 

"Gods, Hermione!"

Draco was relieved when he finally found her that evening—sitting slumped at the bar, hanging onto her glass tightly that only had a few sips left, her eyes glazing and all red, from crying, he guessed. He sat down next to her. "Hey, what happened?"

"You're the guy she brought home last time, right?" the barkeeper asked.

Draco nodded, his gaze fixed on Hermione. "How much did she have?"

"More than she should have."

"N-Not enough," she protested with a heavy tongue.

"Hermione, you’ve definitely had enough. I'm bringing you home now."

"They think I'm wasting my time on you... T-that you bewitched me or-or something..."

"It's okay," Draco replied and signalled to the barkeeper that he'd pay her tab. He was indeed surprised that she was still able to somewhat form coherent sentences after he heard the barkeeper list what she had consumed so far. Whether she was still able to stand or walk was a different story, Apparating even more so.

"You need a taxi or something?"

"No, thanks. It's not far.” Draco shook his head. “Can you walk?" he asked Hermione, who was now leaning on him.

"I d-don't know. Maybe." She propped herself up again and tried to climb off the bar stool, but she was only stopped from falling ungraciously to the ground when Draco grabbed her shoulders.

"We're going home," he said and lifted her on his shoulder, hoping she wouldn't throw up until they were at her place.

"Home? What's _home_?"

Draco noticed the sad tone in her voice. From the state she was in, her Sunday afternoon had been probably catastrophic. He didn't know whether she would tell him about what had happened—it probably was a fight about her befriending him, anyway. However, that was not the most important thing right now—it was more important that she didn't feel alone.

"Can you hold on tight and close your eyes for a moment?" he asked when they reached the empty side street he remembered from his own alcohol drowning; he knew that Apparating in this state could easily upset any stomach, but it would be even worse with the eyes open. He gently put her down on her feet. "Gods, not like that," he added with a grin and pulled her hands up from his arse to the safer region of his waist.

"Feels nice, though."

"I wouldn't know that," he replied, trying to hide the fact that if it hadn't been for her inebriated state, he wouldn't have minded to let her hands remain where they'd just been. "Okay, close your eyes," he repeated and then focused on her doorsteps.

"Urgh. Shit!" Hermione immediately let go of him when they arrived and turned around to throw up in the corner; Draco just made sure to keep her hair out of her face until she was finished.

"Better?" he asked when he heard her inhale deeply. He shortly looked around when she managed to get up again and then quietly Vanished the vomit.

"Just nothing left," she replied, taking another deep breath, before she started fumbling through her pockets. "I can't find my keys..."

"It's okay, here, let me do it." He grabbed her hand to stop her frantic search through everything. And with a well-placed, non-verbal _Alohomora_ , he opened her door and pulled her inside.

There, he brought her straight to her bedroom to lay her on her bed after pulling off her shoes. Then, he kneeled down next to her, noticing that she was watching him with her big brown eyes, a bit like a child. "What happened? I mean you're not the type to drown yourself in alcohol like that... That's my style, you know?"

Her eyes, still glazed, searched his for a moment. "George said that he saw you in Diagon Alley, checking out the window of his shop a few days ago, a-and then Harry wanted to know whether we were still _talking_. He doesn't want to believe me, and it hurts."

"I know."

"I feel like I've just broken up with my friends, you know? I'm not even asking them to become best friends with you–"

"Gods no! I'd rather have you tell everyone about me having empathy than willingly befriend Golden Boy. Now that would be a new low," he interjected, smiling when he could hear her chuckle lowly.

"I just want them to be more understanding, a bit more open-minded." She took his hand that was placed on the edge of her bed. "Is it a mistake that I can forgive you? A weakness?"

He shook his head. "It's not. I think it takes an incredible strength to be able to forgive. You have no idea how much it means to me."

"I know. That's why you came to the hospital."

"Yes." He brushed over the back of her hand with his thumb, trying to calm her.

"Can you stay tonight? Here? With me?" she pleaded in a whisper. "I don't want to be alone..."

Draco hesitated with his answer—he knew that he couldn't really leave her alone like that—so, instead, he just continued to brush her hand for a long moment. She was upset because of him, because she felt the need to defend him against her friends. Him, of all people. And on top of that, she had started to pull him in with her care and her trust.

Smiling softly, he realised that he didn't want to miss her in his life anymore, that she was the one good thing in his life that he would hold on to. "I'll stay," he whispered, knowing that it was going to be the most comfortable night in a long time, next to her. Maybe they’d even cuddle, but that was her decision to make.


	5. Chapter 5

The next morning, Hermione woke up with a severely throbbing head, feeling disoriented, while her eyes refused to open in the bright morning light. Was it really morning? She didn't know, having lost her sense of time in her attempt to drown herself in alcohol. She groaned, and tried to remember how she got back home last night—it was a bit hazy, but somehow Draco had been involved.

Draco!

Hell yes, she had left him a note not to bother waiting for her to come out, and then he just picked her up...

That was when she noticed that she wasn't alone in the bed but had arms wrapped around her as if protecting her from something. He had stayed.

She opened her eyes carefully one by one but was still blinded by the light for a moment; she let out another groan as her head started throbbing even more. After a deep breath—and with sheer will—she was able to keep her eyes open and look down. Yes, that were his hands, lying protectively around her waist; she had to smile at the fact that he made sure that they were placed in safe spots, like a gentleman. She could hear him breathe behind her, even felt the breath brush over the skin on her neck. As weird as this might have looked, most probably, to others, she hadn't felt as comfortable and safe in months—just because he had been there when she had needed him.

 _He_ , of all people. _He_ had caught her; _he_ was letting her feel safe now.

Why was it so hard to understand that he had taken the chance to change, to open up to her? That war questioned everyone's world-view and changed people? She intertwined her fingers with his, and nestled up closer to him.

"Hey," he whispered sleepily when he noticed her shifting. "Feeling better?"

She smiled gently. "Head hurts."

"I figure. Didn't know you could stomach that much alcohol without passing out. You do remember that you threw up in front of your house?"

“I did?”

“Yes.” He let his thumb run over hers. “I could put something together for your head if you want...”

"I've got something in the kitchen. Just too comfortable to get up," she replied softly, enjoying his gentle strokes on her thumb.

"Hm-hm..."

Hermione could feel him brush a kiss on her neck, and it sent a shiver down her spine. "Hmm... That's nice."

"Couldn't resist, sorry."

“Hm-hm... Your lips are so soft, you know?” She whispered, licking hers; she had really loved how his lips had felt the last time they had kissed—though she was quite sure they hadn't kissed the night before.

“I know.”

“Wish you would continue,” she murmured, pressing his hand in encouragement; she didn't really think that he would repeat that kiss on her shoulder, or do even more, but that didn't mean she couldn't hope for it.

"Could you turn around?" he asked, letting out a small sigh.

She nodded, and then—groaning rather deeply from the renewed throbbing in her head—she eventually managed to turn around to face him.

This was the first time she ever saw him in bed, not styled or anything, and she actually liked the light mess in his hair as well as the still rather sleepy look in his eyes. Yet, there was something else as well—openness. The last time she had seen it was when he had taken her out for dinner to that small Italian restaurant, and he had ended up asking her for forgiveness. But she was mostly surprised that he let her see the affection and the respect he had for her—or at least she thought she could see it. Smiling softly, she let her hand run over his cheek, feeling the soft stubble. The feeling actually made her chuckle briefly because she had never imagined him with anything less than a perfectly shaved face.

Draco placed his hand on hers, smiling at her chuckling. "Look... I loved our kisses, they were fantastic. But this... I mean, don't you think we should know first what we really want before we go further? Because I really don't want to fuck everything up again..."

"I know." She nodded gently.

"I really mean it. I don't want to hurt you, okay?" He placed a gentle kiss on her palm, his fingers still wrapped around her hand. "You deserve something better than just a one-off, you know?"

Despite being rather hung-over and sleepy, Hermione was touched by his care to do it right this time. "It's okay." she finally said, "I don't want to fuck it up either."

He smiled in relief, and placed another soft kiss in her palm. "Breakfast?"

She shook her head. "I'd like to stay like this a bit longer; it's comfortable."

* * *

 

A few days later, Draco found a surprisingly upset Hermione when he arrived at her place. "Hey, you okay?" he asked worried when she let him in.

She first nodded, but then started shaking her head. "It was a weird day," she replied, and closed the door behind him. "Dad and I brought Mum home today. I helped him get her settled."

"You mentioned that yesterday, I remember that you were rather glad about it."

"Mum said she wanted to talk with me, said she had noticed me withdrawing, and that she couldn't bear seeing me like this any longer..."

"And? Did you talk?" He unbuttoned his coat.

"Yeah. They told me that they do understand why I had done it, to protect them from a war they couldn't fight themselves. And they are actually rather proud of me, you know?"

"I don't know whether I would be proud or scared shitless to know that my daughter fought in this War."

"Oh, you'd be scared shitless for sure," she countered, flashing a smirk, though she continued to hug herself.

He noticed her attempt to hold on to herself; in this regard she was just like him, preferring to hide her emotions, but he knew her well enough to know the signals by now. So, in order to soothe her, he took one of her hands. "But that's not what's upsetting you, isn't it?" He let out a small growl when he saw her shake her head. "It's that bunch of idiots you still call friends, I guess?"

She just nodded, and wrapped her arms around his waist for support, breathing in deeply.

"Hey..." As she had slipped underneath his unbuttoned coat for her embrace, he now wrapped his coat and his arms around her to provide a safe bubble. When he finally felt her sigh against his chest—a sign that she was feeling a bit better—he slowly opened his embrace. "It _is_ your friends, then," he whispered, trying to keep a soft voice, though he was starting to boil on the inside. Mostly as a distraction from his irritation, he started to brush his fingers over her mass of curls—then he realised that she welcomed the distraction of his touch just as much.

"Hmm," she let out, "that's nice." She finally turned her head upwards. "You like doing that, don't you?"

"Yes." He gently started massaging her scalp, smiling when he heard a low purr. "What did they do?"

Hermione enjoyed his massage in silence for a few long moments, even closed her eyes in the process. "They've sent an owl. I tried to read it, but it was just them questioning my decisions again. I've sent the letter back with the owl."

He stopped his massage, and took a deep breath because inside, his anger was reaching the boiling point —he was close to just show up at that shack the Weasley's call home and let her friends know what pricks they were for treating her like that. Oh yes, that would definitely satisfy him!

"Why did you stop?" she asked, and opened her eyes again.

"Nothing." He smiled, hoping that his anger wasn't visible on his face. "If you want, I could take you out for a small dinner, my treat. I'm sure the Italian has tiramisù on again tonight... Or I could go and check whether they also do take away. Your choice, I'm paying either way."

"You paying—I could get used to that," she replied, returning his smile.

He chuckled, relieved to see her smile. "Of course you could."

"But take away sounds nice, you know? I'm not in the mood to go out now, though a big Peperonata sounds about perfect."

"Good thing then that I'm still wearing my coat, right?" He raked through her hair once more. "Big Peperonata for you it is. And I'll bribe them to make you an extra-large pizza."

"My hero!" she joked. "But you know what? We could watch a film while eating. You do remember what a film is and a telly, right?"

" _Hero_..." He let out a short laugh, and then let go of her. "Yes, I kind of remember what a telly is. But whatever makes you feel better tonight."

 

Hermione was sitting comfortably on the sofa, skimming her way through the TV program when Draco made it back with the orders—she had left the door unlocked for him.

"Did you get it?" she asked, and turned off the telly.

"You'd be surprised." He placed a surprisingly huge pizza box on the sofa table, topped with two smaller boxes. He grabbed the bigger one. "I didn't understand everything the old lady in the kitchen said, but she looked at me as if I should better apologise to you for whatever I did that made me order a big pizza. And then she gave me this." He opened the box, and carefully showed her the contents.

"Tiramisù!"

"And she was adamant that this is for you—all of it," Draco added to her amusement. He was glad that he could make her laugh. "Italian women definitely have some fire."

"Yes, they do."

He grabbed the other box, put it on the side and opened the pizza box. "I do hope I'll get one piece of it."

"You and pizza?" she replied teasingly, grabbing the first piece and rolling it up to be able to take a bite while Draco removed his coat and then placed himself next to her on the sofa.

He watched her stuff her mouth with that first piece of pizza, little moans of pleasure escaping her that let his mind drift off for a short moment. No, he didn't need to imagine _that_ just yet. Maybe another day... To distract himself from his straying thoughts, he finally started his own dinner, the same as last time—his now all-time favourite because of the memories connected to it, Spaghetti Arrabbiata.

"You want the last piece now?" Hermione asked a short while later, licking the oily sauce from her fingers; she had ravished the rest of the pizza in record time, and was now eyeing the box with the tiramisù. "Just be careful, it's rather juicy..."

"You mean to say that I should protect my shirt?" he replied with an amused smirk, and reached for the last piece of pizza.

"You're the one with the expensive taste in clothes, not me," she countered, cocking her eyebrow.

Her continued finger licking didn't exactly help his focus, so he folded the last piece rather slowly, and in the way he had seen her do with the rest. As soon as he took a bite, he however understood why she had been letting out all those small moans that he had found so distracting—even slightly cooled, it was still delicious.

She chuckled, and then leaned back with a spoon and the box of tiramisù, ready to devour it all, on top of the pizza she had just stuffed herself with. "I like that sound you make."

He pushed the last bite in his mouth, and then leaned back as well, feeling stuffed. "You should have heard yourself," he replied after swallowing, "lost in pleasure." He imitated one of her delighted moans.

Hermione hid her blushing cheeks behind a big scoop of tiramisù. "Just me and good food."

Draco bit his tongue to keep another teasing comment to himself. He remembered all those little moans she had let out during their second kiss, they had vibrated all the way back into his throat; so, right now he wasn't sure whether she knew how suggestive she actually sounded... Or maybe she did know?

"Feeling a bit better?" he asked instead.

She nodded. "Yes. Thanks for doing all this."

"You weren't the only one with a crappy day. And this is a nice distraction..."

Licking the spoon clean after ingesting another load of tiramisù, she looked at him. "But–"

"You looked worse than I felt."

"What happened?"

"The usual."

"Fight with your father, then?"

Draco nodded. Taking care of Hermione for a moment had distracted him enough from the fight. Today had even been worse because his mother had been in the room, trying to stop them. The whole situation only ended when he left the Manor, as usual. "He found some of my notes. I only scribbled down a few ideas, things I wanted to do now... I mean, you said I should still try to make amends when I took you out for dinner.”

"I think I said that I won't _free you from making amends_ ," she clarified with a serious tone, raising her index finger upwards—but the teasing glint in her eyes betrayed her.

“Different words, same thing,” he retorted, grimacing.

Smiling softly, she put the box with remaining tiramisù on the table, and shifted her position so that she was now fully facing him. "What did he say this time?"

He gave a brief smile when he noticed her hand intertwine with his; he loved her touch, loved how her skin felt on his.

"I'm not sure whether you know that I inherited part of the Malfoy fortune when I legally became an adult. I haven't really used that money for anything... It's a substantial sum, it really is." He sighed. "I thought of maybe turning parts of it into a fund, a charity or something similar. So I scribbled down a few ideas of what might be worth supporting. Just ideas at the moment. But it does feel a bit like I have a purpose in life again, you know?" He smiled again when he saw her nod. She was right, it was great to have someone who just understood, who didn't question every step you tried to take in life. "And he found those notes. Called them _thoughtless_ and what not. 'Malfoys are not a charity', he said. For fuck's sake, it's _my_ money, I can do whatever I like with it." He let out a frustrated groan that turned into a low growl. He was fed up with those constant fights about what he was supposed to do. At least, he _was_ trying to do something to stop being seen as a pariah!

"I like the idea of putting up a charity. I do think you'd be able to help a lot of people," said Hermione.

"You do?"

"Yes."

"The thing is, if I'm going through with it, I'll need someone to help me with the organisational aspects and who can be charmingly convincing..." The eagerness with which she was listening to his idea filled him with hope that it might actually work; it was the feedback he had somewhat been hoping for. “So, just _hypothetically_ speaking, would you be interested?”

Hermione mulled about his proposition for a moment; and as always Draco watched how she furrowed her brows a little—it was a sign of her thinking deeply about something, as he had learned during all their talks. “Only _hypothetically_ speaking, what would be your conditions?” she finally asked, smiling.

Draco got the impression that she wasn't just _hypothetically_ asking but that she was genuinely interested. “I haven't thought that far yet. But why not some sort of equal partnership? We both have a say in what to support? I don't think you'd take anything less—I know your mind by now.”

She smiled teasingly. “You’ll be surprised, but I do like your idea of working together. I most definitely don't want to work for the Ministry should I ever come back—but in the wizarding world, you're either working for the Ministry in some form, or you're a shopkeeper or you're freelance. Or you're stinkingly rich.”

“Guilty of the last. But I wouldn't want to work for the Ministry either...”

“So, yes, I like your idea, even if we're just _hypothetically_ speaking about it.” She leaned back on the sofa, her head coming to rest on his shoulder.

“Thanks. I wasn't so sure you'd agree with the idea–”

“Nah, you're doing it for the right reasons. And you want _me_ on board because I'd keep you on the right track.”

“You got me.” Draco placed a soft kiss on her head, taking in that subtle scent of jasmine in it. Of course she was right, he did want her on board because she wasn't afraid to tell him her mind, and would keep him on track.

“Have you ever thought of moving out of the Manor?” she asked then, breaking the comfortable silence between them. “I mean you seem to fight with your father almost every day, that can't be a healthy atmosphere, you know?”

“Constantly. However, I told you before that as soon as anyone sees the name Malfoy, they don't want to be associated with me. I can't find anything, so I'm stuck there.”

“What about moving in here? I do have a spare room I don't really use. Most probably not what you're used to, and I don't have any house-elves, but you'd have your peace. And we could talk all night about stuff.”

“I... You think that a good idea?”

She looked up, smiling warmly. "Yes," she replied, and shifted upwards. "You're here most of the time anyway now... You arrive earlier and leave very late at night."

Draco did notice that she moved closer, until her face was only inches away from his. "Yes," he whispered, "I like spending time here..."

He pulled an obstinate strand of hair out of her face, and studied her for a moment. He wondered why she was doing this, offering him her spare room, but then he got lost in her dark amber eyes, even found himself mesmerised by the fire glowing in them; only the touch of her fingers on his cheek finally brought him back.

"Then move in," she said, her eyes now fixed on his lips.

The deeper meaning of her words—that she wanted him to stay _with her_ —let him feel a warmth radiate through his body, leaving him slightly light-headed. And the way she was looking at him right now, with that affection in her eyes, he realised that he wouldn't mind turning it into a more permanent situation. Guided by that thought, he cupped her face, and then let his thumb brush over her lips, parting them slightly.

"Draco–"

"Shh..." He stopped her by claiming her lips with a kiss. Their first two kisses had been great, exhilaratingly so, but this one was even better. It was tender, yet passionate; slow, but intense—it let his senses tingle and his heart race. Gods, she was intoxicating!

After what seemed like half an eternity, Hermione broke off, completely out of breath but smiling broadly. "Stay, please," she whispered softly, running her fingers through his hair.

"We'll collect my things tomorrow," he rasped in response, and started kissing her again, more possessive this time.

* * *

 

"Draco! What is the meaning of this?" Lucius demanded when he stormed into his son's room in the Manor.

"I think you can see what I'm doing," Draco retorted cynically. He was currently collecting his clothes, levitating them in one swoop into the magically enhanced suitcase he and Hermione had brought along. "I'm moving out."

"And where do you think are you moving?" Lucius tried to stop his son from putting any more shirts into the suitcase, earning himself a contemptuous glare from Draco, who then continued to collect everything. “You will stop immediately...”

“I won't–”

"My place, Mister Malfoy," Hermione replied from the en-suite bathroom where she was collecting the rest of his things.

"YOU BROUGHT _HER_ HERE?"

Draco didn't even flinch at his father's outburst—he had witnessed enough of them to know that they were usually empty threads these days. "Yes, she is helping me," he replied calmly, without stopping to empty his wardrobe, not hiding the sneer in his voice, while trying to work around his father. “You're in my way.”

"Lucius? What's going on? Why are you shouting?" Narcissa joined them, though she remained at the door, watching the scene with wide eyes. "Draco! What are you doing?"

"Your son is moving out, Cissa," Lucius informed her, not even attempting to hide the spite in his voice. "That Mud–"

"Don't you dare say it, or I will make sure you'll regret it," Draco stopped his father, hissing loudly.

"Draco? Can you check the bathroom if I got everything you want to take with you?" Hermione came back into his room; she spoke calmly as if she hadn't heard the last exchange between the men, yet she threw her iciest glare at Lucius.

Draco saw her glare at his father, and nodded. "I'm almost finished here..." He put the last of his shirts in the suitcase.

"Why are you moving out, Draco?" Narcissa asked in disbelief, wrapping the house robe she was wearing these days a bit tighter around her body.

"Mother." Draco sighed. "You've seen us fight. You really think I could stay under the same roof as the man who still tries to control me, who still tries to manipulate me? This after everything he has done to _us_?” As much as he was looking forward to leaving his father behind, he didn't like leaving his mother in this cold place, knowing that she already felt lonely enough.

"I manipulated you? How dare you! Everything I ever did was to keep this family safe!" Lucius countered, raising his voice, demanding authority. "And you WILL NOT move out!"

"You cannot tell me what to do! _You_ are the bloody reason why we're stuck like this, why we're considered pariahs in society. _You_ , you selfish snake!"

“Watch your tongue, boy, or I will teach you to respect your parents–”

“Respect? For you? No. Not after everything you've done to _me_.” Draco shook his head; he was trembling now, his hands turned into fists.

"Draco, stop it." Hermione grabbed his hand and pulled him back, fearing that the two men were going to attack each other any moment. She noticed that Narcissa was doing the same with Lucius, though more discreetly. "Let me."

"Hermione, he just used me to save his own skin,” Draco seethed; he took several deep breaths to calm himself. “I've done everything I could to save this family, and it was just about _him_!"

"It's okay," Hermione replied as calmly as she could. "Please, just go check the bathroom. The sooner we're finished, the faster we can leave..."

He huffed and glared at his parents, then did indeed walk towards the en-suite, muttering all the way.

"He told me everything, Mister Malfoy," Hermione then continued icily when Draco was out of earshot. “And I've been at his hearing–”

"You don't know anything about how things work in our family–"

"THAT might be, Mister Malfoy. But–"

" _You_ gave him ideas, you planted that _damn idea_ about forgiveness in his head–"

"Lucius, stop now," Narcissa intervened. "I have had enough of your constant fights. You can't stop him."

"Cissa, she's beneath him–"

" _She's_ the one who forgave him his sins... Do you really think he still cares about her blood?"

"She gave him _those_ books to read, and it's because of her that he wants to waste his inheritance in a charity! What do you think he is going to do when he inherits the rest?"

"He tries to make amends for his family," Hermione threw in, irritated about his obstinacy. "For the mistakes _you_ made. You forced him to do things he didn't want to. And you still try–"

"Hermione, let's go. He won't ever _understand_ , as stubborn and self-centred as he is." Draco came back from the bathroom, a few last things in his hands that he added to the suitcase, and then, with a fast swish of his wand, he closed everything.

"Draco, dear..." Narcissa finally entered his room, suddenly looking rather lost.

"I'm only sorry for you, mother." Draco took her hand, completely ignoring his father now. "I'm going to miss you, and I do worry about leaving you alone here with _him_... But I cannot stay in this place any longer. It's not a good place..."

"No, it's not," she agreed. "You know, she's not what I had in mind for you when you were younger. I thought you would marry maybe one of the Greengrass girls one day, you know?” she continued with a softer voice, filled with regret. “But now, after that war, all I want is for you to be happy... You still have the chance for it. Take it, even if it's with her."

"Thanks." Draco hugged his mother for goodbye. After a deep breath, he let go of her to grab his things. He smiled faintly when he noticed that Hermione had already shrunk the pieces for easier transport through the Floo Network.

"I'm still disappointed that you no longer want to be part of this family," Lucius sneered when his son passed him.

Draco stopped, only to throw his father one last contemptuous glare. "Nothing new then. I've always been a disappointment to you. I just don't care any longer because I'm done with _you_. Goodbye."

And with that, he continued his way back down to the main hall with its fireplace connected to the Floo, Hermione following closely behind.

* * *

 

"What's going on, Hermione?" Draco asked about a week after moving in; he held up a letter in the living room as he saw her enter the flat they now shared.

"Why are you going through my stuff?" she retorted defiantly, having just come home from her parents' place to look after her mother for a few hours, helping her father out who had been called for an emergency.

"It was lying on the table; I wasn't going through your things." He put the letter back down, straightening it a bit. "Why are you sending everything back?"

"I don't know what you mean," she huffed, pulling off her coat to hang it up.

"Oh come on, I saw you sending the owls straight back as soon as you saw the name of the sender. You sent everything back except this one, from the Weasley mother. So, what's going on?" He thought he heard a low growl coming from her in response. He just didn't care any longer, after having watched her grow more and more upset with every letter arriving from her so-called friends. Some friends they were—not caring enough to come by, or maybe not _courageous_ enough? Gryffindors!

"Just because you live here doesn't mean I have to tell you _everything_ ," she retorted walking past him to the kitchen.

He followed her. "You know that I don't just _live_ here, Hermione. You know it's more than that—and it means I worry, because I can see what those letters do to you–"

"I just don't want to talk to them, okay?" she growled, opened the fridge to check for something to drink.

"I think you should–"

"No!" she slammed the fridge door shut. "I'm not going to talk to them as long as they don't get it, and those letters are a sign that they haven't understood yet."

Draco said nothing, sensing that any reply would only make it worse, and he wasn't in the mood to be on the receiving end of one of her hexes. However, he had understood by now that—as much as he would have loved to have her to himself—she still needed that bunch of blithering idiots she called friends. If only they all—Hermione included—weren't so damn proud and stubborn.

"What? No sarcastic comeback?" she finally commented on his silence.

"No." He shook his head. "Not this time. As much as you'd like me to, but no."

"Why would you even care about my friends?"

"I don't care about _them_ , I care about _you_! They could rot in hell for all I care, and for how they treat you. Only the gods know what you see in them, but whatever you might think, you still need them."

"I don't–"

"You do, Hermione." He took a step towards her, stretching out his hand to her in an offer of peace, and softening his voice. "I know you do, or you wouldn't react like you do to all those letters."

She shook her head in defiance, and narrowed her eyes. "No, I don't, Draco." With that, she left the kitchen again. "I'm not going to talk about it any further, understood? And I think I'd rather be alone tonight."

Draco wanted to retort something, but then swallowed his words, and only watched her leave the room to go upstairs. With a frustrated sigh, he realised that _he_ had to do something in order to fix the situation, or else it would always loom over them, and—in the worst case—destroy whatever they had been exploring over the last few days; he didn't want to lose that, oh no! Besides, as much as he still disliked the group, he didn't want to be the cause for a break-up between them and Hermione, not after having witnessed her behaviour since their last fight...

Bloody thick-headed Gryffindors and their damn pride!

* * *

 

"Potter. A word with you." Draco leaned against the door frame of Harry's office the next day, amused at the chaos that apparently prevailed any system of order.

"How did you find here?"

"Oh, I do have my charms with some ladies. But I'm not here to talk about that."

Harry closed the file in front of him and leaned back, crossing his arms. "Hermione."

"Yes." Draco acknowledged the still defiant position of the other with a short smirk. "Let me see, one of the words she mentioned most in relation to you and your gang was _idiots–_ "

"I'm sure _you_ suggested it."

"No, I'm even being nice right now, sparing you from the more salacious words she used. _You_ pissed her off, not me."

"What do you want? Gloat about that fact?"

"It's tempting, Potter. But no. I'm here because I think the two of us need to come to an understanding–"

"Pff."

"Potter, stop your act for a moment. You can't be _that_ thick-headed not to see the hurt you're causing."

"What do you mean?"

Draco was not in the least intimidated by Potter's glare in response to his words. “Really, Potter? I've seen her sent your letters back, all of them–”

"Yes, she sent them all back. Except George's and Molly's."

"Exactly."

"Why do you even care about it?"

"And here I was thinking you might have finally understood the wink, but it seems you haven't got the slightest clue. You really should have believed her when she told you that we're just talking. And no, that wasn't a euphemism... Happy with the results?"

Harry let out an irritated sounding sigh. "No."

"I figured. So, this is a favour for Hermione, because–"

"You use her first name?"

"Problem with that? Or are you jumping to conclusions again, Potter? Better live with it."

"Yeah, I figured as much." Harry rubbed his eyes. "Molly told us the same."

Draco nodded. The letter he and Hermione had argued about the day before was the letter from the Weasley matron—the only one he saw opened. The old woman had invited her for a tea to the Burrow, and asked how she was. He wasn't surprised to hear that she had given that group of tossers an earful of her mind, and it seemed to have worked, too. "As I said, this is a favour for her. I'm not here because I suddenly _like_ you, but for Hermione's sake–"

"–we should let go of the past and be friendly enough with each other. Is that what you want?"

"More or less."

"Again, Molly said the same..."

"So, you and your friends will be coming over next Friday to Hermione, and then you'll have that deep conversation with her that she deserves, and you _will listen_ to what she has to say...” Draco made a pause to let his words sink in, and used the time to study his old rival closely, before he continued. “However, you might need to bring the food and drinks. I'm not going to tell her that you're coming because otherwise she might disappear–"

"–before we even arrive. Yes, she can be that stubborn. Okay, we'll come over next Friday. For her, not because you asked."

"This meeting never happened."

Harry nodded, and then pinched his nose bridge before setting his glasses straight. "What's in it for you, by the way? You haven't suddenly turned into a selfless person, have you?"

"Like you? Bloody hope not. But I won't let that one person down who does have the strength to forgive me while you nurtured your prejudices..."

Now Harry started to grin. "You want her."

"Never said that, Potter."

"You know that's hopeless..."

Draco ignored Harry's remark, knowing that the situation was rather different. "You better be there on Friday. I make sure she's home."

* * *

 

That next Friday evening, Hermione was prepared for some comfortable reading on the sofa, with Draco next to her, as they now spent most their evenings ever since he had moved in to leave the toxic atmosphere of the Manor. She was, however, not at all prepared for the knock that pulled her from her thoughts.

Draco shrugged when she looked at him questioningly, and continued reading. "I don't think I should open any doors at the moment."

Hermione got up with a sigh when the knock was repeated. "They all know better," she muttered, and finally opened the door.

"Hermione! You're home!"

"What the fuck are _you_ doing here?" she retorted irritated when she saw her friends stand outside her door.

"We're here to apologise," Harry said, "all of us."

"Took you long enough."

"Hermione, we're really sorry. We were just worried you were making a mistake..." Ginny came up. "I mean it was—or rather still is—difficult to understand that you and Malfoy became friends after everything that happened–"

"Maybe you're right, and we should be the better ones," Harry added, mostly to stop Ginny from blabbering on.

" _Maybe_ I'm right?" Hermione retorted.

"Okaaay, you _are_ right, and we were idiots to treat you like that."

"That's better."

"Look, we really mean it—we were lousy friends to let you slip like that," Harry continued. "We didn't listen, and we'd like to remedy that." He held up a bag filled with what looked like groceries. "My pasta is Molly-approved; you wouldn't have to do anything. Well, maybe except let us know where your things are in the kitchen."

Hermione looked at every single one of them—Harry, Ginny, Ron, all of them looking something between embarrassed and apologetic. She just didn't trust the whole thing.

"Please, give us a chance to makes things better. We all promise to listen and not judge," Ginny added, sounding sincerely apologetic.

"Draco's here," Hermione replied coolly, noticing them flinch at her using his first name. "And I won't throw him out just for you..."

"We said we won't judge. So we can live with it, I think."

"All right, you idiots, come in." Hermione stepped aside to let the group in, and pointed them to the kitchen, before going back to the sofa.

"What's that supposed to mean?" she asked Draco, who was still reading through his book, albeit rather disinterestedly so.

"They claim to be _your_ friends, ask them," he replied without even looking up, though he couldn't hide the smirk fast enough.

"We'll talk later,” she said, having noticed the smirk on his face. “Right now, I'd prefer if you could stay upstairs. They might say that they won't judge, but those are so far just words."

He finally looked at her and slowly nodded before he got up. "Don't hold back, okay? They promised to listen, and they should. Let them know that they really were idiots." With that, he went for the stairs.

"Malfoy."

"Potter."

"What's going on?" Hermione asked suspiciously, once Draco was out of sight.

"Nothing."

"As if." She followed Harry into the kitchen where everyone else was already trying to find utensils and cutlery. In a way, she was glad they had the courage to come over, but that didn't mean they were excused just yet; she sat down at her small kitchen table to keep an eye on them.

"Out of curiosity—why is Draco here tonight? Did we interrupt one of your talks?" Ginny asked, filling the pot with water.

"He currently stays in the spare room." Hermione had to smirk at their reaction to that information—they all stopped whatever they were doing and just blankly stared at her slack-jawed. "What? The Daily Prophet didn't mention that he moved out of the Manor? They were so keen on everything else..."

"He moved in here?" That was Ron, finally breathing in again.

"What did you think? Nobody wants to sell or rent anything to the Malfoys, and he wants to find something in the Muggle world anyway. I'm just helping out."

"And you really aren't...? I mean... you know," Ginny stammered.

"No." Hermione shook her head; she preferred to keep any further details about her relationship with Draco a secret for the moment—him as her flatmate was already stretching it enough. However, seeing her friends' shocked faces was definitely worth mentioning his moving in.

"You should have heard Mum have a go at us after you left that Sunday," Ron finally continued. "What did she say? _Stubbornly_ _blinded by prejudices..._ I think, _idiots_ was mentioned several times too."

Hermione smirked deviously. "You definitely deserved it, especially for not trusting my word when I said we were only talking."

"It just sounded so incredible, you know? He wasn't one of the good guys–"

"You mean, _one of us._ No, he wasn't. But who are we to judge him now for that? We _all_ did what we had to do to keep the ones we love as safe as we could, he just had different cards to play and lost."

"But–"

"Ginny, no. You have no idea how lonely he must have been to come to my place. Lonely enough not to care any longer. You haven't seen his eyes that day, you haven't heard him talk. You just assumed. And you didn't even give him a chance when you discovered him after our dinner, Harry. You just insisted on having him chased away."

"It was based on our experience with him, Hermione–"

"Molly was right, stubbornly blinded," Hermione retorted, "I would add _stuck_ _in_ _the_ _past_ to the list."

"Hey, we learned the lesson!" Harry exclaimed, raising his hands in defence.

"Have you?" Hermione looked at every one of them, eyeing them closely. "Are you all willing to see past his mistakes?" She saw them all look at each other, questioning themselves. "Because you will see more of him in the future, whether you like it or not."

"I think we could manage–"

"We'll see about that," Hermione interrupted Harry sceptically. "Merlin knows I'm not asking you to become best friends with him, just to give him a chance to show that he has changed. Because he has. Or I wouldn't let him live here, you know?"

They all nodded. "We get that now. It might take a while to get comfortable with the idea of Malfoy living here, though," Ron added with an unsure smile.

Hermione smiled genuinely for the first time ever since they arrived; that was what she had wanted all along. "There's another thing I think you should know—I'll return more fully to the wizarding community, and start a new job–"

"Coming back to the Ministry?" Harry asked. "You'd be perfect for that new project–"

"Or join George as a partner, he's looking for one–"

"Hogwarts is searching for new staff–"

"Neither of them. Draco is about to found a charity with the money he's so far inherited—I've seen the number, it's a hilariously substantial sum—and I join him as an equal partner. It's in his name, but besides that, we share all the responsibilities." The kitchen was suddenly quiet, except for a knife falling to the ground; Hermione had expected this reaction to the news, had even joked with Draco about it. "And yes, it was all _his_ idea. He wants to help, and make amends for his family's wrongdoings."

"That..." Ginny was the first to break the silence. "That is... wow."

"It's not going to be easy to convince the society that he means it–" Harry added, agreeing with his girlfriend.

"That's why we join forces—his money, my reputation."

"It's a lot to get used to," Ron admitted. "He's going to be around you all the time."

"Yes. Is that a problem?" Hermione eyed her ex closely, who eventually shook his head.

"Why are you joining him?" Harry asked, sounding something between curious and still sceptical. "I mean it's a good idea and all..."

"Because it gives us both some purpose in life." She saw her friends nod. "I mean I don't want to disappear behind some desk at the Ministry, you know? I want to help others, and his idea sounded good. And maybe we can also steer somewhat against the current course of action the Ministry seems to have taken..."

"And he pays you rather decently."

"I'm not doing it for the money, but yes," she replied with a short grin. It started to feel as if she finally found the connection to her friends once again—they might struggle a bit with her and Draco working and temporarily living together, but at least they were willing to give him a chance now.

"So, want to tell us more about that charity?" Harry finally asked. “I mean it's important to you, so we'd like to know more.”

“Yeah, maybe we could even help out with showing up somewhere, you know?” Ron agreed, and snagged a piece of tomato from the cutting board.

* * *

 

It was late that evening when Hermione finally made it to bed; she was tired but content—the dinner had turned into a long-needed conversation with her friends, and she had been able to get it all off her chest. And they even listened to her in earnest when she told them more about their plans with the fund; she had to admit that she had been pleasantly surprised about their genuine curiosity about both the fund and Draco. But now, all she wanted was drifting off to sleep while spooning comfortably against Draco's chest, his arms wrapped protectively around her. “You talked to Harry, didn't you?” she whispered, when he pulled her closer under the blanket.

“Yes,” he replied with a soft murmur. “You were upset...”

“Draco–”

“Shh...” He placed a sleepy kiss on her shoulder. “As much as I'd like to have you all to myself, I get that you come in a package. You need them, I can live with that.”

She gently took his hand that was placed on her stomach and twined her fingers with his. “Thanks. And I'll make their lives hell if they won't accept you.”

“You don't need to–”

“I do.” She pressed his hand in affirmation. “Just as you accept that I come in a package with them, they'll have to accept that I come in a package with you.”

He pulled her closer in response, and placed another kiss on her shoulder. “This is more than I could ever have hoped for when I came to your place the first time...”

That made Hermione turn around and look at him, surprised to find him gazing at her once more with a surprisingly honest face—it was an expression she now figured fitted him much better than that mask he had worn before.

“I know,” she finally whispered softly, and let her fingers run through his hair, pulling him gently closer, until his lips were almost brushing hers.

“I think that saying is true,” he breathed over her lips, “ _home is where the heart is_ , I mean.” He kissed her gently, only letting his tongue run over her lips. “And _you_ make me feel home, Hermione.” With that admission, he claimed her lips in a deep kiss.

Hermione was blown away by his words, and she responded with all she got to his kiss, relishing once more that slow, but intense passion between them. “You make me feel home, too,” she murmured breathlessly between kisses. “You, no one else.” She smiled into their kiss when he started to turn on his back, pulling her along until she ended up lying on him. Her smile grew even wider when she could feel his hands sneak under her pyjama top, brushing lightly over her skin. “Just don't stop.”

“Never,” he replied teasingly, and started pulling her top up. “Never...”

 

**END**


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